Unchained Memory
by lrcallahan
Summary: What happens when the power to resurect one dead family member falls into the hands of an eleven year old? When Merope Fallon creates one such potion, she accidentaly brings back the worst person imaginable: Lord Voldemort. Post DH, epil. disg. slight AU.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Okay, okay, I know that you can't really bring people back to life, but we're gonna bend the rules a bit. Trust me, I can pull this off. Criticism is welcome, and reviews are very much appreciated. I worked really hard on this, and I hope you like it!

**Disclaimer: **If I was JKR, would I be on fanfiction?

**Prologue**

July 9, 2014

"Hey, Nella, what're you making?" asked Merope. Nella was sitting in front of a cauldron, mixing ingredients with painstaking accuracy. She gestured to the book open in front of her. "A growth potion? What's that for?"

"The stupid roses," said Nella bitterly. "They keep dying on me, and for once I'd like to have flowers that don't look like they've been run over by an eighteen-wheeler."

Nella was Merope's twenty-five year old cousin. She had short, messy blonde hair with uneven bangs that made her look like she was nine, dull blue eyes, and mismatched clothes.

"Want me to help?"

"No! It's too complicated. One little screw up could have horrible, horrible consequences," Nella warned.

"Really? Like what?" Merope eagerly pulled up a chair and sat at the counter.

"Don't you have something to do?"

"Not really," Merope shrugged.

"I'm not describing horrific situations to an eleven-year-old with nothing to do except listen to descriptions of horrific situations."

"What's wrong with that?"

"To all your teachers at Hogwarts, I say good luck," Nella sighed. "Go do something useful. Why don't you de-gnome the garden?"

"Fine," huffed Merope, and she hopped down off her stool and went out to the back yard, searching the flowerbeds for the gnome burrow. Unlike most witches and wizards, Nella lived in a Muggle house in a Muggle neighborhood, with Muggle appliances and Muggle plants and even dull Muggle neighbors that came over for tea once a week to gossip over who's lawn was looking brown, or who's garage needed painting. All of Nella's plants were dead, but nobody had the heart to tell her, except Ms. Litterby, the lonely old spinster down the street who was fond of throwing things at children and calling foreigners "jackasses."

"Aha," Merope muttered, spotting the hole. She grabbed the hose from the side of the house, stuck it in the hole, and turned it on full blast. She held it there for about five minutes until all the gnomes had drowned.

"Done already?" sighed Nella. "For the ten millionth time, you can't drown the garden pests. Dammit, I'm out of lacewing flies." Nella got up from her chair. "Mero, you're going to watch this potion while I go over to Diagon Alley."

"I thought I wasn't allowed to help."

"One more smart-ass comment and I'm going to jinx your ears off," snapped Nella. "You sit right here and watch this potion. Don't touch it and do NOT let anything happen to it or I'll jinx off your nose as well."

"You know, at some point you're gonna run out of parts of me you can jinx off…kidding, god, I'm only joking!" said Merope hastily when Nella narrowed her eyes. "Why can't I touch it?"

"Don't touch it."

"Why not?"

"You'll die."

"Really?" Merope edged away from the potion.

"Want to find out?" Nella strode over to the fireplace, tossed in some floo powder, and shouted, "Diagon Alley!" With a whirl of green flames, she vanished.

"Okay." Merope sat in her chair and stared down at the bubbling pink potion. "Here I am. Watching the potion that will kill me if I touch it." She hummed along to the Wizarding Wireless set for a while, flipping through the potion book that Nella was getting the instructions from.

"This potion won't kill me," she muttered, reading the recipe.

"And now, a brand new single from Celestina Warbeck!" exclaimed the peppy radio DJ from the wireless set. "This one's called, 'You Stole My Love With—'" Merope leaned over to turn the dial on the wireless set; she hated Celestina Warbeck.

The doorbell rang, and Merope jumped, cutting her finger on the dial and accidentally sending the wireless set flying—into the cauldron.

"Oh no," groaned Merope as the pink potion turned dark green. "No, no, no, no!" She jumped up and grabbed a pair of salad tongs from a drawer in the kitchen and plunged them into the potion, searching around for the wireless set. When she pulled out the tongs, they were on fire.

"What do I do, what do I do?" she muttered. She saw a pile of caterpillars diced on the edge of the table. Nella must want those in the potion, thought Merope. I can't make it any worse, can I? Merope dumped the caterpillars into the potion. To her frustration, the potion turned black. She started dumping all the ingredients in sight into the cauldron, still holding the flaming salad tongs.

The doorbell rang again.

"One moment!" shouted Merope a little hysterically. She dropped the tongs back into the cauldron and shoved it under the sink before sprinting to the door and flinging it open.

"Ms. Litterby! What the hell are you doing here?" blurted Merope, thinking of the cauldron under the sink and hoping to god that nothing else would get set on fire.

"Shut up, don't talk to me like that, you insolent brat," snarled Ms. Litterby. "Apologize to me."

"Sorry," muttered Merope.

"Shut up, don't talk to me like that, you insolent brat." Ms. Litterby pushed past Merope and strode into the house. She was headed to the living room—adjacent to the kitchen.

Merope jumped in front of the woman, blocking the doorway.

"Hey, you want to hear a joke?" Merope invented wildly.

"I don't want to hear anything that comes out of your mouth," Ms. Litterby sniffed.

"Ha, ha, that's funny." Merope forced a laugh. Ms. Litterby did not look please. Merope trailed off and cleared her throat. "Now…er…why did the chicken cross the road?"

"Chickens don't cross roads," snapped Ms. Litterby.

"It's a joke."

"I hate jokes." Ms. Litterby tried to pass Merope again.

"Don't you want to know why the chicken crossed the road?" asked Merope hopefully.

"Melanie—"

"Merope," Merope corrected.

"Shut up. I don't give a damn why the chicken crosses the road."

"Well, he wanted to get to the other side!" Merope forced another laugh. "That's a funny one, eh?"

"You stupid kids and your marijuana…you're frying your brain, I'll bet you didn't know that, funny girl!" said Ms. Litterby in annoyance, shoving Merope aside and entering the next room. Merope rolled her eyes; Ms. Litterby was under the impression that all kids were on drugs.

"Where's Nella?"

"She's…she went over to the QFC," Merope invented, "so she'll be gone for a while."

"The QFC's just down the road."

"Well, yeah, but she's got a lot of hard decisions to make…you know, whole milk or skim milk, paper or plastic…"

"She's just as high as you are." Ms. Litterby shook her head. "It's those damn foreigners, bringing their drugs over to a nice country like Whales. Just yesterday I saw some kid writing obscene things on a wall downtown…"

Merope allowed Ms. Litterby to rant. She was staring at the sink, hoping beyond hope that it wouldn't catch fire.

"You know, Ms. Litterby, Nella might not be back for hours, so you may as well just go home," said Merope hopefully.

"Go make your sorry ass useful and get me some water," Ms. Litterby told her.

Merope got out a glass and walked over to the sink. She made to turn it on, but it began to shake in her hand. Merope jumped back and let go immediately. It continued to shake. In fact, the cupboards were shaking too, and the sink itself…

"It's an earthquake!" squawked Ms. Litterby.

"No, it's not…" said Merope nervously, backing away from the sink as everything began to shake more violently. Ms. Litterby was screaming god knows what, but Merope wasn't listening. She could hear the pipes rattling and the cauldron clinking under the sink…

"Merope, I'm home!" said a voice from the fireplace, and Nella strode across the room, stopping short upon seeing Ms. Litterby, who was looking floored at the sight of Nella walking out of a fire. "Oh. Hello—Merope, why is the sink—"

And then, to Merope's horror, the sink exploded.

Merope dove down out of the way and covered her head as the pipes flew off and the handles and ricochet off the walls. Ms. Litterby screeched, and ran around the living room before being hit by a pipe and diving behind the couch. Nella was swearing at Merope at the top of her voice while attempting to Stun the various pipes and handles and bits of the wall that were spinning around the room. Drywall rained down on Merope's head. There were two more crashes, one right after the other, as the dishwasher and the oven burst into flames. Merope stumbled up and ran under the table on the other side of the kitchen.

Then, as fast as everything started, it all stopped.

Gingerly, Merope got up and looked around nervously. It wasn't pretty. The entire wall that the sink had been adhered to was demolished. All the plates and cups and pots were strewn across the floor, ninety percent of which were shattered. The cauldron, however, with the bubbling black goop in it had remained intact, and it was sitting on the floor, looking as innocent as a cauldron full of black bubbling goop could look.

"Merope June Fallon. What the _hell_ did you do?"

Merope winced as she turned around and saw Nella standing a few feet away from her and looking livid.

"Well…er…you've always said how this window needed to be bigger…"

"YOU BLASTED OUT THE DAMN WALL!" she shouted.

"I can explain!"

"This is going to be a good one." Nella rolled her eyes.

"I was sitting here and then the doorbell rang and the radio fell in and then the salad tongs got set on fire and I tried to make the potion better but it only made it worse and so I stuck it under the sink and answered the door and then Ms. Litterby was there and she didn't like my chicken joke and then she wouldn't leave and then you came home and the sink exploded and please, please don't kill me!" Merope said all this very fast.

"You. Sit there," ordered Nella. She was shaking with rage. "I'm going to call the Dept. of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, but I am not finished with you yet."

Merope obeyed and sank into the couch next to Ms. Litterby, who had been knocked unconscious. A closer look told Merope that she had just been Stunned. Some of the nosy old neighbors were peering into the house through the hole in the wall.

"What happened here, Merope?" asked Hanna Sedgwick, a neighbor girl three years older than Merope who Merope had gone to grammar school with. She was staring at the lack of wall with her mouth open. Merope got up and walked over to her.

"Oh, this?" Merope tried to act like it wasn't a big deal. "I…er…" Merope blurted the first thing that came into her head: "You know how people tell you not to explode marshmallows in the microwave?"

Hanna raised her eyebrows and looked at the wall as though sizing up the damage, wondering whether Merope could possibly be telling her the truth. Merope stepped to the side, trying to conceal the cauldron, but Hanna noticed.

"What's that?"

"What?"

"That. That pot."

"What pot?"

"Is that a _cauldron_?"

Merope did the only thing she could think of doing.

"Is that a _cauldron_?"

"Seriously, Merope. What is it?"

"Seriously, Merope. What is it?"

"Why've you got a cauldron in your kitchen?"

"Why've you got a cauldron in your kitchen?"

"Stop that, you're not six."

"Stop that, you're not six."

There was a flash of light, and Hanna fell to the ground. Merope whipped around and saw a man in dark green robes with the Ministry emblem on the chest who was pocketing his wand. The men from the Ministry had arrived.

"Are you Merope Fallon?" asked one of them.

"Y-yes," stammered Merope.

"What exactly did you put in that potion?" he said.

"I-I don't really remember…let me think. Well, the wireless set fell in, and so did a pair of salad tongs, and I don't remember what else. It was all stuff we had on the counter. Ingredients for the growth potion, I think. You'll have to ask my aunt." Merope gestured towards Nella. The man nodded curtly.

"Um, sir? How much trouble are we in?"

The man just looked at Merope and laughed before going off to question Nella.

Six hours later, the wall was repaired, Ms. Litterby's memory was modified, and the potion was being taken away to be dumped in a landfill somewhere in Scotland. Once the ministry people were gone, Nella rounded on Merope.

"You are very, very lucky, Merope. Do you know why?"

"N-no…" she stuttered.

"You are lucky because it's illegal to murder little girls," replied Nella, looking so angry she seemed a little crazed, "but if it wasn't, you would be headed to that landfill along with that potion in a million pieces."

"Well, I-I suppose I am lucky, th-then," said Merope cautiously. She backed up slowly, jolting unpleasantly when she backed into the kitchen counter by mistake.

"I am so mad that I'm ready to keep you home from Hogwarts for this," Nella ranted, "but if I did, then you'd be messing stuff up stuff your entire life, and I am not going to subject the world to that sort of destruction."

"Er…I really don't think that I'm capable of messing up that badl—"

"Merope, you just exploded the _wall_!" said Nella indignantly. "All I asked was for you to watch the stupid potion, and _not to touch it_, and you go ahead and…"

Merope listened to Nella rant, slightly frightened. She had never seen Nella so angry. When she got angry, Nella's blue, doe-like eyes got massive and seemed to pop out of her head, while her five-foot-one height seemed to stretch to twice it's height.

"Just get upstairs," Nella sighed, covering her face with her hands. And still two months to Hogwarts. Hopefully.

**A/N: **And there you have it! Love it? Hate it? Want to burn it? I don't know unless you tell me. So review away!


	2. Unchained Subconscious

**A/N: **Hola! This is chapter one of my story, which you should all review. This chapter is a little slow, but chapter two will be much more exciting. And I want to thank the person who put me on their favorites, darkwater567, and my one reviewer, bluejay123. And just FYI, I respond to all reviews, and as I will do so here:

Bluejay123: Thanks for the positive input! And to answer your question, there is a reason that Merope is named as she is. Read the summary very carefully and maybe you can figure it out!

And now, on with the show!

**Chapter One**

**Unchained Subconscious**

September 1, 2014

"Up, up, _up,_ sleepy head! You're gonna miss the train!"

Merope Fallon groaned and stretched, squinting as light streamed in through her open window. Nella was standing over her, looking anxious and harried. Her makeup was half-done, her clothes were wrinkled, and her hair looked like someone had styled it for a monster movie.

Merope looked nothing like her aunt. She was of average size and weight with lank, dark, shoulder-length hair and gray eyes.

"C'mon, chop, chop!" Nella clapped her hands impatiently. "The early owl catches the flobberworm, you know!"

"I hate flobberworms," grumbled Merope, sliding out of bed.

"What was that?" Nella whirled around to face Merope, who quickly muttered, "nothing" and pulled on the nearest sweatshirt.

"Trunk packed?"

"Yes," said Merope in a muffled voice; her head was still in the sweatshirt.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Yes."

"Would you bet your life on it?"

"Calm down, you'll get an ulcer."

"Ha, ha, no time for jokes, run, run, run!"

Nella grabbed Merope's wrist and dashed down the stairs, muttering wildly all the way. She released Merope at the foot of the stairs, and Merope dragged her trunk over to the fireplace, but Nella stopped her.

"No time for that! Grab my arm." Nella held out her arm, and Merope took it, handing her trunk over to her aunt's other outstretched hand. "Get ready now…" Nella pivoted on the spot and Merope sucked in a deep breath, preparing herself for the sensation of being stuffed through a tube the size of a doughnut hole. She shut her eyes and felt herself being compressed until it seemed she was completely flat. A second later she was released and standing in front of a plain brick wall at King's Cross Station in London.

Her pulse quickened. This was it. This was the wall that separated her from Hogwarts, the greatest place in the world. And, possibly, the answers to all her questions.

Nella had never told her why she lived with her, and not with her parents. Were they dead? Alive? In the hospital? In Azkaban? Whenever Merope brought up the subject Nella turned a deaf ear and started ranting about whatever was closest.

-Flashback- 

_Six Years Previous_

_Merope: Nella, are you my mommy? _

_Nella: No, Mero, I'm your cousin. _

_Merope: Oh. Then who is my mommy?  
Nella: You know what's the worst are these godforsaken Idaho potatoes! They taste like they came out of the ground! I tell you, Merope, if you grow up and go to Idaho, give them a piece of your mind for me. Like I always say, if they aren't grown right here in Ireland, then they aren't worth eating, aren't I right? _

_Merope: Nella, we don't live in Ireland. _

"Merope?" Nella snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Mero, you still with me?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," said Merope, shaking her head to clear it. "That's the platform, right?" She gestured towards the wall in front of them.

"Yes, now git through." Nella pushed Merope through the wall, dragging Merope's trunk with her.

"Here's your ticket, that's the train, and send a letter every week or you'll be deader than a possum under an eighteen wheeler!" Nella threatened, shoving a ticket into Merope's hand.

"See you in December," she said as the whistle sounded. Merope lugged her trunk onto the train as the doors slid closed and the red engine slipped away from the platform. She caught a last glance of her cousin waving goodbye before she slid out of sight.

"Kid, you gonna move it or not?" shouted a tall, weedy boy behind Merope. She jumped and stumbled quickly down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment. She found one at the end of the car and tried to stow away her trunk, but she couldn't reach so she brought it into the compartment with her. She opened her trunk and took out her wand, looked at it happily for a while, and then placed it on the seat next to her.

Merope looked out the window and gazed at the stragglers. Thanks to her Aunt's hasty goodbye, Merope was not the last one to board the train. Five children, two boys and three girls, were sprinting towards the Express while calling last-minute good-byes to their parents. There was a black-haired girl about four years older than Merope dragging what appeared to be her black-haired and green-eyed brother, closely followed by a dark-haired girl, a red-haired boy, and what Merope suspected as their brown-haired older sister. They clamored onto the train as the final whistle sounded, waving to their parents as the Hogwarts Express turned a corner and the platform was no longer visible. They looked happy.

"Erm…hello?"

Merope jerked her eyes from the view outside and turned towards the door. Standing there was a nervous-looking boy with overgrown brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was wearing his sweatshirt inside-out and dragging his trunk.

"May I sit here?" he asked once he had Merope's attention.

"Yeah, sure," replied Merope. The boy looked relieved as he plopped down onto the seat across from her. "Your sweatshirt's inside-out, did you notice?" The boy looked at it.

"Oh, yeah, guess it is," he said, pulling it off and turning it right. "I'm Terry, by the way."

"Merope," Merope introduced herself. "Are you a first year as well?" Terry nodded.

"What house do you reckon you'll be in?" Terry wondered. "My mum didn't go to Hogwarts, but my dad was Gryffindor. Everyone says it doesn't run in families, but when you look at the Weaslys it's hard to believe that it doesn't."

"What's special about the Weaslys?" said Merope.

"All of them've been in Gryffindor for ages. They're friends of dad's. Two of the Weasly kids are in our year. Dan and MJ. Their twins; you see if their not in Gryffindor."

"I don't know what house my parents were in," said Merope, wishing that she had pestered Nella for more information on her family. "My cousin said something about Hufflepuff once, but that's it."

"Your cousin? Don't you live with your parents either?"

Merope shook her head. "It's nothing to be sorry about, or anything. I—either? You don't live with your parents either?" Terry shook his head.

"Adopted," he shrugged. "But I still see them and stuff, so its all cool."

"Yeah," said Merope, because she had nothing else to say. She wanted to get off the subject, fast. She liked Terry well enough, but she didn't want to have to tell him how little she knew about her parents after spending less than two minutes with him.

"Hufflepuff's not bad," Terry told her fairly, noticing Merope's stiffness. "At least it's not Slytherin."

"I always thought the whole Slytherin-prejudice thing was over."

"Well, it sort of is, but not everyone's forgotten, you know, people like Bellatrix Lestrange and You-Know-Who and the Malfoys." Terry scratched his head. "I know I don't want to be in Slytherin. I want to be a Gryffindor, just like my dad."

"Cool," Merope said. "Gryffindor would be cool." Merope noticed a Wimbourne Wasps sticker on Terry's trunk. "You're a Wasps fan?"

"Oh, yeah," said Terry enthusiastically. "You?"

"I support the Kestrels," said Merope. "The Wasps have been doing better this year, though."

"Did you see how they flattened the Harpies last month?"

"I heard, it sounded pathetic," Merope responded eagerly.

"It was," Terry told her. "Didn't you feel like kicking yourself when Calloway got knocked off her broom by Langston?"

"I didn't go to the match, Nella—my cousin—thinks Quidditch is rubbish."

Terry looked flabbergasted.

"That's awful!"

"I know. Can you fly at all?"

"A little bit," said Terry. "Whenever we stay with the Weaslys and the Potters for Christmas we play three-on-three."

"I've never even touched a broom," admitted Merope jealously. "I really want to play for my house team, though. Someday I want to be as good as—"

"Well, would you look at this, Heyman, all the blood traitors in one place."

Merope and Terry turned around and looked at the three people standing in the door of the compartment. The girl, who Merope was sure was the one who had spoken, was tall in comparison to herself with long, white-blonde hair nearly the same shade as her complexion and wearing very expensive clothes. She was flanked by two boys. The one on her left seemed to be Heyman, the one she was addressing. Heyman was taller than she was, and so broad that Merope was shocked he could fit through the doorway. He looked about three or four years older than the girl, who Merope guessed was a first year as well. The boy on her right was scrawny and around Merope's own height. He was unmistakably a first year.

"Who are _you_?" demanded Merope rather rudely.

"Shaela Malfoy," sneered the girl, "but no need to ask who _you _are."

"What's that supposed to mean? I've never met you."

"I don't need to ask because I don't _care_." The girl laughed shrilly, and Heyman and the other boy followed suit.

"Am I missing something here?" Terry murmured to Merope, apparently just as bewildered by the stupidity of the joke as she was.

"Unfortunately, I don't think so," Merope whispered back.

"If you're just going to sit here and laugh at your dumb jokes, then please leave," said Terry.

"You're mom laughs at dumb jokes," the scrawny boy retorted stupidly. Shaela Malfoy and Heyman laughed again.

"Get out," Merope snapped.

"You're in our compartment," sneered Shaela Malfoy, holding up a hand to silence her cronies.

"What are you talking about, you're first year!" said Merope. "You three are the stupidest people I've ever met."

"Ha! Show's what _you_ know!" Shaela Malfoy said snidely. "Heyman's done third year _twice._" Heyman nodded proudly.

"I just learned this new spell, want me to try it on you?" he asked.

"We want you to get out," Terry told him for the third time.

"Wait, Terry, I don't think they can understand us," said Merope seriously.

"What?"

"Yeah, you're using words that are to big for them." She walked up to Heyman. "You." She said, slowly and deliberately, poking him in the chest. "Go." She mimed walking away from something. "Out." She pointed outside the compartment. Terry laughed openly as Heyman, Shaela Malfoy, and the scrawny boy looked livid.

"Here's a word I'll bet's to big for you," Heyman snarled, whipping out a wand and pointing it at Merope. Merope backed away as he advanced. Terry was no longer laughing. Merope tripped over her trunk and landed with a crash against the wall of the compartment as Heyman stood over her, wand in hand. Stupid as he may be, if he had been in school four years, he knew a great deal more about magic than Merope did.

"_Explliarmous!_" shouted a voice from the door, and a jet of light hit Heyman in the back. He was blasted back into a seat and his wand zoomed from his grip. Merope looked in time to see a girl with shoulder-length brown hair and dark blue eyes catch the wand, her own still outstretched.

"Heyman, what the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded angrily. "Stay where you are!" she shouted to Shaela Malfoy and the other boy, who froze in their attempt to sneak out the door. Heyman seemed to be at a loss for words.

"That's what I thought," she snarled. "Twenty points from Slytherin and detention for all of you on Saturday."

"What?!" yelped Heyman. "Malenkiv—from your own house?"

"Yeah, and if I ever catch you lot harassing any more first years I will hex you," she said dangerously.

"You can't, you're a pref—"

"Try me," said Malenkiv dangerously, cutting across the scrawny boy. She tossed Heyman's wand back at him. "Get out, now."

The threesome didn't need telling twice. They scrambled out of the compartment as fast as they could, looking over their shoulders at Malenkiv as though afraid she would curse their backs.

Malenkiv helped up Merope and Terry.

"Olivia Malenkiv," she introduced herself. "You'll be first years, right?"

"Yeah," said Terry. "I'm Terry."

"Merope," said Merope.

"A word of advice," she said. "Steer clear of those three, they've got quite a legacy. Jay Heyman's had to repeat third year and doesn't have enough brains to figure four plus four, but he knows a few pretty nasty curses. Zachary Zabini's had a brother come through here—he graduated two years ago—and if he's anything like Thanan, he'll be cursing your ears off as soon as he figures out how. And the Malfoy girl has two sisters. One of them's a second year, and she's alright, but the other's the incarnation of evil. Keep out of their way if you can help it, at least until you learn a few proper hexes."

Merope, not entirely sure if Olivia Malenkiv was joking or not, just nodded.

"Thanks," agreed Terry.

" No problem," she said. "You need anything hexed, just ask me." Merope wasn't sure whether to laugh or not, so she just smiled as Olivia Malenkiv left the compartment.

"I wonder where Shaela Malfoy gets her jokes," said Terry thoughtfully, "because I read a few on the back of a Lucky Charms box about a week ago, and they weren't nearly as good as hers."

Many hours and Pumpkin Pasties later, the train pulled to a stop at Hogsmeade station.

"Where to now?" asked Merope once she and Terry had fought their way out of the fray of students getting off the train.

"I dunno," Terry shrugged. "My dad said something about—"

"OI, TERRY!" bellowed a voice from across the grounds, and a second later, three kids were speeding towards Terry. Merope recognized them as the dark-haired girl, redhead boy, and green-eyed boy she had seen coming to the train late. By the lantern light she saw that the other two were rather taller than the green-eyed boy.

"Man, where'd you go off to?" asked the dark-haired girl, punching Terry in the shoulder.

"It's not my fault you guys got on the train late," said Terry defensively, rubbing his harm where the girl had hit him.

"Late, shmate, we made it, didn't we?" the girl scoffed as James nodded.

"Whatever. _I _got to King's Cross on time, and met Merope." Terry gestured towards Merope, who smiled awkwardly. The girl crossed her arms and gave her a once over.

"Merope, this is MJ Weasly—" he pointed to the girl, "Dan Weasly—" he pointed to the red-haired boy, "and James Potter." He pointed to the black-haired boy.

"Hi," said Merope. James and Dan nodded back, but MJ did not.

"Fan_tastic_," she said unenthusiastically before turning back to Dan. "Didn't your dad say something about boats?"

"Don't take it personally," Terry muttered to Merope, "she doesn't like _anybody_."

Merope nodded, though she now felt a little bit put out.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here, eh?" Merope turned again and gasped, finding herself face-to-face with the largest man she had ever seen. He was at least three times her height with huge hands and friendly black eyes.

"Hey, Hagrid!" exclaimed James.

"Hello, you four," Hagrid said, gesturing to James, Dan, MJ and Terry. "Haven' seen ya since Christmas! Good holiday?"

"Yeah, it was brilliant," replied Dan. "George exploded MJ's puffeskin, and then she broke his arm!"

Hagrid didn't seem to have anything to say to this. Merope edged away from MJ as though afraid that she would break her arm as well. The conversation was cut short, however, by the arrival of the rest of the first years.

"Alrigh', everybody here?" boomed Hagrid, silently counting out students. "Come with me!" He trooped down the grounds, James, Dan, and MJ right behind him.

"C'mon, Merope," urged Terry, tugging on Merope's sweatshirt. She consented, though was sure to keep a short distance between herself and MJ.

They arrived down at the banks of the largest, blackest lake Merope had seen in her entire life. Docked magically along the edges were ten wooden boats that looked to Merope like they couldn't support the weight of a small rabbit.

"Everyone in!" said Hagrid loudly, clambering into one of the boats. "An' watch how many people yer putting in 'em, they haven' bin replaced in fifty-seven years," he added to a group of girls who were trying to fit seven in a boat. Merope looked around for Terry, but he had already gotten into a boat with James, Dan, and MJ. He caught her eye and gave her an apologetic glance, and then was jerked back into a conversation with James.

Merope climbed into the last open boat carefully; she didn't much like water. However, to her displeasure she was joined shortly by none other than Shaela Malfoy, now accompanied by a large, short-haired girl who was so pudgy that Merope worried that the boat would not support her weight.

"Well, look who it is," said Shaela, leering at Merope. "Mudblood ditch you?"

"Watch it," Merope snapped, "and Terry isn't even Muggle-born, idiot."

"Blood traitor, Mudblood, no difference," said Shaela. "Still ditched you."

"No, he's just got other friends than—"

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid. "Foreword!"

The boats lurched forewords, and began gliding of their own accord across the black lake. Merope was pleased to see that Shaela looked faintly green.

"Who're you?" demanded the fat girl as though only just noticing that Merope was there.

"Who are _you_?" countered Merope.

"I asked you first."

"I don't care," she said hotly. Merope glanced over at Terry's boat. James, Dan, and Terry were shouting at MJ who was, by the sound of it, trying to figure out the best way to capsize the boat.

The fat girl leaned against the side of the boat and it lurched dangerously. Merope grabbed the boat to keep from flying out, and the fat girl chortled.

"What, scared of a bit of water?" She reached over the side of the boat, causing it to lurch violently again, and splashed Merope.

"I'm not afraid of water," said Merope, annoyed. She crossed her arms as Shaela Malfoy joined in with the fat girl and splashed Merope square in the face. "Seriously, cut it out."

"Why? Scared yet, Fallon?" Shaela demanded.

"God, no, I just don't want to be—wait," said Merope suddenly. "How do you know my name? I never told it to you."

"Overheard the blood traitor talking to you," Shaela replied offhandedly. She splashed Merope again and cackled happily.

"That isn't funny," Merope told her, wiping her face on the sleeve of her robes.

"Oh yeah? Well this is," said the fat girl, and she reached over to Merope.

"Hey, wait! What the—AH!" Merope shouted in surprise as the fat girl sent her toppling over the side of the boat. Water so cold it seemed to freeze her eyelashes saturated Merope's robes, weighing her down. The lake was so dark she couldn't tell whether her eyes were open or closed. She kicked her legs furiously and tried to pull herself upwards, but her clothes were weighing her down. One of her shoes came off and fell away into the water.

Her head was swimming. Even the darkness of the lake was getting darker. Merope's lungs were on fire. She swam upwards, but her clothes were too heavy. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her back and she jerked around, afraid it was a grindylow or something equally nasty. The hand took the back of her robes and pulled her upwards, out of the water.

She landed on the bottom of one of the boats on her back, gasping, sputtering, and spitting out water.

"Are yer alrigh', kid?" asked Hagrid from above her once Merope's coughs had subsided.

"Yeah, fine," she replied a little hoarsely.

"Ya otta be careful with these boats," said Hagrid. "Lean over to the side to far an' then yer in the water."

"I _was _being careful, it was that girl who pushed me in!" Merope exclaimed indignantly.

"The Malfoy girl?"

"No, the other."

"Now why would she be doin' summat like tha'?" asked Hagrid.

"How should I know?" said Merope. "I was in the boat three seconds when she starts splashing me and the next thing I know I'm in the water!"

"Well, we're nearly up ter the castle an' yer cun git dried off up there," said Hagrid. "Here, ya can see it now."

Merope sat up, and sure enough Hogwarts Castle was looming above them. It was enormous and made of stone—exactly the way Nella had described it. She had even been able to produce a few pictures of the place, but this was nothing to turning the old, yellowing pages of _Hogwarts: A History _and staring longingly at the faded sketches. To Merope, Hogwarts was not a place you saw, it was a place you felt. It felt like a piece of something, a piece of history, something that Merope would soon join.

The boats lurched to a stop and Merope disembarked gladly, thinking of the warm entrance hall and the promise of a hot dinner. She wrung out her hair, trying to get out most of the water. When she looked again, Terry was standing in front of her. The two followed Hagrid up the castle steps and into the entrance hall.

"Are you okay?" asked Terry.

"I swear I'm going to _murder _that girl," grumbled Merope. "I'm going to die of hypothermia if it gets any colder—"

"Oi, Terry!" Dan Weasly shouted from a few meters away. Terry turned and saw that his friends were all waving him over. Terry looked guiltily over at Merope.

"I don't have to go with them," he started, but Merope cut across him.

"No, Terry, it's cool," replied Merope, "I'll see you later."

"You sure?" he asked, as MJ Weasly shouted, "Terry! You wanna see how many gobstones fit up Dan's nose?"

"Yeah, seriously, and if you ask again I'm gonna hit you," Merope told him, smiling slightly, and with a laugh Terry hiked over to his friends.

"What a jerk."

Merope looked to see who had spoken, but saw nobody.

"Over here, dolt," said the voice again, "on your right." Merope turned, and yelled in shock. Standing there was a translucent form of herself, though slightly distorted in a way that Merope couldn't put her finger on.

"Wha…who…huh?" she said weakly.

"I'm _you,_ moron," the distorted Merope told her.

"How…what?"

"I'm you, how many times do I have to say it? Merlin's pants, you're slow!" the distorted Merope said impatiently.

"Your not me, I'm me," said Merope stupidly.

"Oh, please, its not like you're the _only _you," the distorted Merope scoffed in her annoyingly arrogant tone.

"What are you, my evil twin?"

"Of course not, this isn't a soap opera. You are you, but I am also you. You think of things in your brain, and I think of things in your brain. We have separate ideas and thoughts in the same head. Follow me?"

Merope stared at her translucent double blankly. The not-Merope huffed.

"I'm the voice in the back of your head. I'm the one with the second thoughts."

"Like my conscience?" asked Merope.

"No, your conscience tells you right from wrong. I give you my perspective on the things you think up."

"So…do I control you, or do you control me, or what?"

"_You _most certainly do not control me," non-Merope snapped. "This isn't about _control, _this is about ideas and thoughts! It's like your the emotions and I'm the logic."

"Like right brain and left brain?"

"No!" non-Merope looked annoyed. "Right and left brain control different parts of you. I just give you my input whenever I feel its necessary."

"So, you're the voice in the back of my head?" asked Merope incredulously. This had to be the strangest thing she had ever experienced. "Since when do you have a body? If I've been listening to you for eleven years, then how come your out here now?" non-Merope didn't reply. "Can anybody else see you?"

"I dunno," non-Merope shrugged. "I don't know everything."

"Your freaking me out," Merope told her. "Get back in my head, now."

"I don't have to listen to you," said non-Merope, "but I am going to go back now. You are attracting odd looks. This is not the last you'll see of me."

"That's not for you to decide!" said Merope, but non-Merope was already gone. In reality, Merope had no idea if it was for her to decide. She didn't know if she had imagined it or not. Was this normal? Was she going crazy?

'_Going'_ _crazy? _said non-Merope inside Merope's head, and Merope jumped. _You're already a nutter, don't fuss about it. _

_Who asked you?_ thought Merope angrily.

[all words inside the markings are non-Merope's thoughts

_.:You did, dolt:. _

_Get out of my head. _

_.:I live in your head, idiot:. _

_Well, quit reading my thoughts!_

_.:You are stupider than I thought. For the second time, I live in your head. Reading your thoughts is my freaking job:._

_You've never talked to me this straight out before. Shut up already. Your annoying me._

_.:Quit arguing with me, your supposed to be listening to that professor up there:. _

_You're the one distracting me! _Merope protested, but non-Merope was silent.

"—through those doors, and then the sorting will begin," a tall, weedy-looking female professor was wheezing at them. She spoke as if she had a cold. The students followed the professor through the doors and into the Great Hall.

Everywhere Merope looked were people, all staring at them. She couldn't help but feel a little intimidated. She tried to shrink behind the sandy-haired boy in front of her; she didn't like the feeling of being under a bright spotlight.

Nobody said a word. Merope wondered what they were waiting for. Then, suddenly, someone started singing. Merope wondered for a moment who it was, but when she looked over the sandy-haired boy's head, she saw that it was an old hat on a stool.

_Greetings, I'm the Sorting Hat and I'll tell you of my history_

_The founding of this school is a famous allegory._

_Hogwarts School came to be a thousand years ago_

_Built by four intrepid—_

_.:What an obnoxious song:._

_I thought you were shutting up._

_.:Did I say that?:._

_I did._

_.:That hat is really annoying:._

_Good for you._

_.:I wish it would shut up already:._

_I wish you would shut up already._

_.:Oh, aren't we little smart-asses today:._

I'm _the smart ass?_

_.:SOMEONE missed their nappy…:. _

_Shut up._

_.:I don't want to:._

_Too bad, shut up!  
.:Oh, look, the stupid hat is finished! Thank god…:._

_I'm ignoring you._

_.:Good luck:. _

"When I call your—_cough_—name," said the weedy professor as non-Merope made snide comments in Merope's head, "come up and—_cough_—put on the hat. When it sorts you, go to the correct table."

The professor pulled out an enormous list that trailed onto the floor.

"Anderson, Andrie!"

A muscular but attractive brown-haired girl walked confidently up to the hat and stuck it on her head.

"Gryffindor!" the hat exclaimed, and Andrie joined the table that shouted the loudest.

"Arias, Rosalita!" A cocky-looking Hispanic girl sat on the stool. "RAVENCLAW!"

"Brookes, Kyle!"

The sandy-haired boy in front of Merope walked up to the stool. He didn't look as confident as Andrie at all.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat, and Kyle joined the table next to the Gryffindor table.

Jack Callahan and Forest Carson became Ravenclaws. Steven Emerald joined Kyle Brookes at the Hufflepuff table, and Jean Emmerson became the third Gryffindor.

"Fallon, Merope!" said the professor. Merope gulped, her stomach churning, as she sat on the stool.

"Hmmm," said a voice inside her head, and for a moment Merope thought it was non-Merope. However, she realized a second later it was the hat. "You are a tricky one, are you? Not Ravenclaw….Hufflepuff's no good either…Gryffindor, perhaps?"

_.:What about Slytherin?:._

_No! You shut up! _Merope thought furiously. What was going on? She had always had a voice in the back of her head, but it had never spoken so directly—or so much. This was one time that Merope did not want her input.

"Slytherin? Hmm…that makes sense…"

_Wait, what about Gryffindor?_

_.:I want to be a Slytherin. Put me there:. _

_Don't listen to her! I thought I told you to stuff it. _

"Merope, do you have your mind made up?"

_Yes!_

_.:Yes, Slytherin!:._

_NO! Leave me be!_

"I've been a hat a long time," said the hat, "and I've found that the voices in the back of people's heads are often very accurate…even if the person doesn't know it."

_The voices in the back of most people's heads don't have death wishes!_

_.:Watch it, dumb ass:._

_Can you shut up for ten seconds?_

_.:Probably:._

_Please, not Slytherin!  
.:Trust me. Slytherin is the way to go!:._

_No! Don't listen to her, please don't listen to her!_

"I think she's right."

_She's not, she's wrong!_

"The front of your mind is prejudiced. The back of your mind is not!"

_The back of my mind is INSANE!_

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted, and the table furthest to the left screamed in delight.

_Now look what you've done. _

non-Merope did not reply. Merope angrily took off the hat and stalked off to the Slytherin table, sitting on the end, where the table was most empty.

"Finnegan, Sean" became a Hufflepuff, followed by two Ravenclaws, "Hartford, Evan" and "Jackson, Tracy." Stanley Larson joined Merope as a Slytherin. Then, it was Terry's turn. Merope hoped he would be in Slytherin, with her. But to her dismay, the hat shouted, "Ravenclaw!" and Terry went to join Rosalita Arias, Tracy Jackson, Evan Hartford, Jack Callahan, and Forest Carson.

To nobody's surprise, Shaela Malfoy became the third Slytherin. Austin Mason became a Gryffindor. Andrew McMillan was a Hufflepuff, and Natalie Nambly followed Austin to the Ravenclaw table while Keiko Okada became a Hufflepuff. James Potter, who Merope recognized as Terry's friend from the boats, became a Gryffindor.

"Ray, Mallory," the fat girl who pushed Merope off the boat, became a Slytherin. "Richmond, Donna" and "Santoni, Sarah" became Hufflepuffs. "Stevens, Nathaniel" became another Gryffindor. "Thomas, Emily" was named a Ravenclaw, while "VenTuri, Nalane" became a Gryffindor. "Weasly, Daniel," and "Weasly, Mary Joan," Terry's friends, went to the Gryffindor table. Finally, only two boys were left. Both, Collin Yu and Zachary Zabini, became Slytherins.

Merope paid them no attention.

_I know you can hear me, _she thought angrily to non-Merope._ Why'd you do that?! I don't belong in Slytherin, I'm not Dark!_

_.:For crying out loud, shut up! Your incessant whining is getting really obnoxious!:. _

I'm _obnoxious? I control the brain you live in! I can be as obnoxious as I want to be!_

_.:In that case, so can I:. _

_What is your problem? _

_.:Well, I've got this continuing stomachache that hasn't gone away for about a week. Thank you for asking:. _

_Is anything that comes out of your mouth ever actually HELPFUL?_

non-Merope didn't answer. Merope rolled her eyes and huffed, annoyed.

_How long are you going to be this annoying for? _

_.:Dunno. Could be a week, maybe two…or fifty-two…forever is a definite possibility:. _

Forever is a definite possibility. Merope did not like the sound of that at all.

**A/N: **So what'd you think? Like I said, next chapter will get more exciting. That's a promise! So why don't you give my self esteem a boost and review a bit?


	3. Unchained REM Sleep

**A/N: **Hello, again! Welcome to chapter two of _Unchained Memory_! Before we begin, I shall respond to my wonderful reviewers!

Darkwater567: Thank you so much! Non-Merope is probably my favorite character. She's so much fun. You are definitely going to see a whole lot more of her. Anyways, I'm glad you're enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

Girl Of Ireland 44: Wow, I'm glad you liked this! Ha, that Lucky Charms joke I was iffy on…I just couldn't figure out a way to end the scene! And as for Non-Merope having something to do with Voldemort…hmm, good guess! IRISH PRIDE!

Bluejay123: Ha, ha, no problem. I honestly don't care how sappy you sound because it's inflating my ego far bigger than is healthy, so there. Anyways, I'll give you another clue: Merope's namesake has a lot to do with Voldemort.

**Chapter Two**

**Unchained REM-Sleep **

Merope, who had hardly touched her food, barely noticed that it was time to leave. She was to preoccupied with a one-sided argument with non-Merope, who had decided to ignore her.

"Hey, little dudes," a boy called down the table, "like, I'm gonna show you where the dormitory is and stuff." Merope stood and walked over to him, giving him a once-over. He looked nothing like the other students. His hair was blonde and nearly as long as Merope's. His wand was stuck behind his ear, he was not wearing shoes, and pinned to his robes were ten or so various badges bearing legends such as _Save the Grindylows _and _Sphinxes are our Friends_. He looked about sixteen, even though he was a fifth year.

When Merope looked away, the other five Slytherin first years were standing around the hippie boy. Standing next to the hippie boy was Olivia Malenkiv, from the train. She smiled at Merope.

"Hey, I'm Olivia Malenkiv, and this is Calvin…er…what's your last name anyways?"

Calvin shrugged.

"Okay, then," Olivia Malenkiv said, a little confused. "Yeah. And we are the Slytherin prefects," Olivia introduced them.

"Yeah, little dudes," said Calvin. "We're gonna show you, like, where you sleep and stuff. C'mon, we'd better—"

"Why aren't you wearing shoes, freak?" demanded Shaela, cutting across him.

"Watch it, Malfoy," Olivia snapped at her. "You've already got yourself a detention." Calvin, on the other hand, didn't look insulted at all.

"Shoes are, like, the way society defines us as, you know, human," said Calvin in his pensive voice. "You know, man, like you never see centaurs wearing shoes. So I'm, like, bridging the gap." Nobody said a word. Collin Yu and Stanley Larson, two of the Slytherin boys, looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

"Aren't we defined as human by the fact that we _are _human?" smirked Mallory ray. "At least…_most _of us are."

"Alright, that's enough," Olivia said loudly. "Come on, you little midgets." She led them out of the Great Hall and into the entrance hall. They walked through a tapestry and down a few sets of stairs, into the dungeons.

"Like, the common room and stuff is all sad," said Calvin, sounding a little put out. "But the last time I tried to make it happy, people threw things at me." Shaela Malfoy and Mallory Ray looked as though they would like to throw something at Calvin too.

"Here we are," said Olivia, standing in front of a blank stretch of wall. "Grindylow," she said to the wall, and it slid open, revealing a dimly-lit stone room draped in green. It was decorated with swords and stones, and Merope immediately understood what Calvin meant by it being "sad."

"Girls dormitory is up those stairs, first door on the left," said Olivia. "Boys is up _those _stairs, third door on the right. Classes start tomorrow."

"Bye, little dudes," Calvin waved, trudging up the boys stairs.

"What a dork," Mallory laughed.

"I know. I can't believe he's a Slytherin. What a disgrace. How is he not a Hufflepuff?" Shaela laughed.

Merope muttered something derogatory to Shaela.

"Are you mocking me?" Shaela Malfoy whirled around and poked a finger in Merope's chest. It was then that it hit Merope how much taller Shaela was than her.

"N-no, I-I-I just th-thought it was f-funny," stammered Merope.

"You watch it," Shaela warned. "The Malenkiv girl won't be around to protect you forever." She pushed Merope with surprising strength and Merope fell over a table, landing in a heap on the floor. Shaela and Mallory stomped off up the stairs and into their dormitory.

Merope untangled herself from the table and stumbled up to the dormitory, her back aching. People were laughing. Merope looked at them; most were six or seventh years. She shook her head and continued up the stairs, pushed open the door, and flung herself onto the only empty bed.

_"Come on, Merope!" said Terry, running down the spiral staircases. "Hurry up!" _

_"Wait, I'm coming!" Merope ran after him. He was going so fast it seemed like his feet never touched the ground. They tore down the grounds, passed the Quidditch pitch and Hagrid's hut—down, Merope realized, to the forbidden forest. _

_"We can't go in there," Merope said. _

_"Sure we can," Terry replied. "It doesn't look that dangerous." _

_"No," insisted Merope. "I don't want to get eaten by something bigger than me." _

_"But there's nothing bigger than you here," said Terry, pointing just inside the trees. _

_"Well…" _

_"Look, I'll go in first." Terry stepped just into the trees. "See? Everything's fine." _

_"Well, I guess it looks alright," Merope said, and she stepped into the trees next to Terry. _

_"Now let me show you something really cool," said Terry, but his voice was distorted and it made the hairs on Merope's neck stand on end. She gasped; the skin on Terry's face was falling off—in fact, all his skin was falling off—_

"NO!"

Merope's eyes opened. She stumbled, surprised to find herself standing up. She doubled over, breathing hard. Then, she came to her senses. This wasn't her dormitory.

She was standing in front of the forbidden forest.

"OI!" shouted someone inside the forest, and without thinking, Merope ran up the grounds, her heart beating wildly out of control. The memories of her dream were still vivid; she could see Terry with his skin falling off whenever she shut her eyes. Suddenly, something grabbed the back of Merope's robes. Merope screamed.

"Gotcha."

The hand dropped her. Merope fell to the ground, and when she looked up she saw that it was Hagrid.

"Wot're you doin' down here?" he asked.

"I-I dunno," said Merope, her voice shaking as much as the rest of her.

"Really." Hagrid did not look convinced.

"I-I'm serious, I don't know!" Merope protested.

"How can yer walk down to a forest an' not know exactly wot yer doin'?" demanded Hagrid.

"I dunno, I was sleepwalking, I guess!" said Merope. "Why would I go to the forest? Professor Lupin said it was—"

"Forbidden, I know," Hagrid interrupted. "Wot house are you in?"  
"S-Slytherin."   
"Tha's wot I though'. Twenty points from Slytherin, and detention Saturday night," said Hagrid. "You get back up ter the castle. If I see you again tonight, you'll be in detention until your fifth year."

"Y-yes, Mr. Hagrid," Merope stammered, and she scrambled back up the grounds and into the castle. She was in the entrance hall when she realized that she didn't know where to go.

_.:Through the tapestry and down the stairs, retard:. _

Ignoring the insult, Merope followed non-Merope's instructions and found herself in the dungeons again. She followed the dimly-lit corridor until she found the blank stretch of wall.

"Grindylow," she said to it, and the wall slid aside. She scrambled into the common room; it was finally empty. Merope sat down on one of the chairs and put her head in her hands. How had she gotten down to the forest? Had she really sleep-walked all the way down there? Merope closed her eyes and tried to remember the dream, but all she could see in her minds' eye was Terry, his skin separating from his body as though peeled by a potato skinner.

Merope checked her watch. It was three in the morning. She drug herself up the stairs and into her dormitory. She shut the door quietly and crept over to her bed, but—

"What are you doing?"

Merope whirled around, tripping over her trunk.

"E-excuse me?" she asked, grabbing her bed for support. She straightened up as Shaela Malfoy slid out of bed and walked over to her.

"Where did you go?" she demanded.

"Nowhere." Merope turned away from Shaela and made to get into bed, but Shaela grabbed her shoulder and turned her back around. Merope lost her footing and fell back into her trunk again.

"Where did you go?"

"Lay off, you're gonna wake up Mallory," Merope mumbled. She picked herself back up and was careful to place herself out of arms length of Shaela.

"What were you doing?" Shaela asked again.

"Nothing."

"Fallon, it's three in the morning," Shaela hissed. "You don't just walk out of a dormitory at three a.m. to do _nothing._"

"Why do you care so much?"

"I don't," said Shaela quickly.

"Sounds like." Merope got into bed and pulled the hangings around her.

"What are you doing?" Shaela wrenched the hangings open.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Merope closed the hangings again.

"You can't." Shaela opened the hangings.

"Yes, I can, it's three a.m." Merope closed the hangings.

"Tell me where you were or I'll tell that you were out."

"No use, I've already got detention."

Shaela was quiet for a while, as though thinking that Merope had a fair point.

"I'll find out where you went," Shaela said, "even if you don't tell me."

"You do that." Merope turned over onto her side, but she didn't sleep. She was afraid of waking up, not just in front of the forest, but inside of it.

Hours later, Merope was sitting in her spot at the Slytherin table, hardly touching her toast and struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Course schedules, man," said Calvin, the hippie boy, passing a schedule to Merope.

"Thanks," yawned Merope, looking down at her schedule. On it were a few subjects that Merope knew and a few that she had never heard of. What was "Transfiguration?"

Merope checked her watch. It was seventeen minutes until her first class (double Transfiguration with the Gryffindors). Not knowing how long it would take to find it, Merope slung her bag over her shoulder and left the entrance hall.

"Er…can you tell me—?" she asked pair of sixth-year girls.

"And then I was, like, no way, and then he was like, yeah way, and I was like, no way, and he was like, yeah way, and I was like, oh no you didn't, and he—" the first girl was saying loudly, oblivious to Merope.

"Excuse me," said Merope to a third year boy. "Can you tell me where Transfiguration is?"

"I can but I won't, Slytherin scum," he snarled at her, and then walked off laughing with a group of boys. Bewildered and annoyed, Merope saw Olivia Malenkiv walking out of breakfast.

"Olivia, hey, where's Transfiguration?" she asked.

"Oh, it's up on the fifth floor, fourth door on the right," said Olivia before speeding off to her next class. Merope followed her directions and squeezed through the groups of mingling students. She walked into the classroom as the bell rung, and hurriedly sat down in the only seat left, next to a tall girl who seemed to be staring in awe at MJ Weasly sitting on top of the desks.

"Where'd you get it?" demanded the tall girl.

"Nicked it out of the staff room fire," said MJ, and as she shifted, Merope saw that she was holding a salamander by the tail. It was spewing sparks.

"Tell Filch it was a deformed flobberworm?" asked James.

"Better," said MJ with relish. "I said it was an ashwinder. The moron went to go get another teacher, and by then I had it and he was in trouble for letting an ashwinder out. Ha, Professor Warren was so mad I though he'd make Filch use those medieval torturing devices on himself." Everyone laughed except the Slytherins in a corner. Among them were Mallory Ray and Shaela Malfoy.

"Brilliant!" said James excitedly.

"Oh, look at you all sitting there," said a voice. Merope looked up, and standing in front of the class was what appeared to be a male version of Nella. "Who are you all?"

"Er…professor, we're your Transfiguration class," said a girl in the back row.

"Transfiguration?" the professor looked confused. "I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with the term."

The class raised eyebrows at each other.

"Hey, what are you all doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?" asked the professor.

"We _are _in school," James Potter reminded him.

"Bloody hell, it's Harry Potter!" shouted the professor, pointing at James and acting as though he had not heard a word James had said.

"Er…no," said James. "I'm James Potter."

"No, James Potter died thirty-five years ago."

"Oh, right," James replied, raising his eyebrows at MJ and Dan Weasly. He seemed to be deciding that it was no use to explain that he was James Potter II. "I forgot."

"Who are the rest of you?" asked the professor.

"We're your _Transfiguration_ class," repeated the girl in the back row.

"Are you really?" he said, cocking his head to the side and looking at her, confused.

"Yeah…"

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yeah…"

"One moment," said the professor, and he ducked behind his desk, rummaging in the drawers. Merope tried to see what he was doing, but then he stood straight up, holding in his hand what appeared to be a black ball with a number eight on it.

"Am I the Transfiguration professor of this class?" the professor asked the ball, and he shook it furiously. The class was looking anxious again. The tall girl next to Merope had put the salamander safely in the pocket of her robes, and Shaela Malfoy had a coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like, "_Moron_."

The professor looked at the ball. "'Reply hazy-try again later,'" he read. "Right then." He replaced the ball in his drawers and sat cross-legged on the desktop. He pulled a bag of candy that Merope recognized as Muggle gummy bears and started eating them, a wistful, content look on his face.

The class stared at him, not saying a word.

"Oh, I apologize, I was being rude," he laughed, offering the bag of candy to the class. "Gummy bear?"

Nobody said anything.

The professor shrugged. "More for me, then." The class watched him eating gummy candy for a few minutes, when suddenly the professor jerked and spilled the candy all over the room, a smile plastered to his face as though he had just won the Nobel Prize.

"Is he having a fit…?" muttered Collin Yu.

"I just had the best idea!" he exclaimed, jumping down from his desk. "Let's go swimming!"

"Uh, sir," said the tall girl next to Merope, raising her hand nervously, "it's raining."

"Well where else are we gonna get the water?" he asked her.

"Do you know _anything _about Transfiguration at _all_?" asked MJ Weasly.

"Transfiguration?" he thought for a moment. "No." MJ Weasly shrugged in a _works-for-me_ sort of way, but not everyone was as okay with it.

"Then how in the name of Merlin's underpants did you become a professor?" demanded Shaela Malfoy. The professor looked at her, his eyes wide. He looked as though all his dreams had come true.

"I'm a _professor_?" he breathed. Several people slapped their foreheads. MJ Weasly banged her head on her desk. Shaela Malfoy rolled her eyes, and Merope shook her head. This was going to be a long, long year.

An hour later, Merope and the rest of the Slytherins were back down in the dungeons for double Potions with the Ravenclaws.

"How cool is this?!" exclaimed Terry as he sat down next to Merope, who was busy unpacking her supplies. She looked at him for a second, but then flashed back to the night before. She suppressed the urge to yell, and decided she just wouldn't look at Terry, and try to act as normal as possible. "I just had Charms; it was AWESOME! I answered all the questions that Professor Harris asked, and got Ravenclaw fifteen points! Some people didn't know the answers, can you believe it? Seriously, who doesn't know August Esfahan's theory of basic magical exchanges and/or transformations corresponding to the laws of basic physics?"

"Er…anyone without serious issues?"

"Funny, Merope," said Terry sarcastically.

"At least _you're _having fun," said Merope ruefully. "I just had Transfiguration, the professor is insane."

"He can't be that bad," Terry said fairly.

"Terry, he has no idea who he is, he wanted to take us swimming in the middle of the lesson—if you could call it a lesson—and his life is controlled by a magic eight ball."

"Are you sure that was the professor?" asked Terry, eyebrows raised.

"No, HE didn't even know he was the professor."

"Potions will probably be better," Terry assured her. "I've done a lot of research on it, and it looks pretty fun, actually."

Merope, remembering her potion incident over the summer, had a hunch that she would not agree.

The professor, a very tall, very fat man with the ugliest smile Merope had ever seen, started off the lesson by asking questions.

"Can anybody give me a generic definition of the word, 'potion?'" he asked. Merope could not help but notice that he spat as he spoke. Terry's hand shot into the air, along with a raven-haired Hispanic girl and a few others. Terry glared at the raven-haired girl, who returned his glare with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Yes, you." The professor gestured to the Hispanic girl. "What's your name?"

"Rosalita Arias," she said in a thick accent. Through her accent, Merope noticed that she sounded exceedingly stuck-up. "A potion is a magical concoction consisting of two or more ingredients that combine to make a solution that changes the chemical or physical properties of a person or thing."

There was a pause. Merope, and most likely a the majority of the class, didn't understand a word Rosalita had just said.

"Very good," said the professor as Rosalita smiled a sickly smile, "five points to Ravenclaw—"

"Sir, Rosalita has forgotten a few things," piped up Terry.

"Terry, its against the rules to speak out of turn," Rosalita snapped at him.

"Terry, is it?" said the professor. "Right, then. In my class, you must raise your hand to make a comment." Terry raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"I have something to add to Rosalita's…lacking…explanation." Rosalita shot him a look, and Terry turned his back on her. "Although a potion has all the qualities that Rosalita said, potions can also change the emotional state of the drinker. They can manipulate their feelings by making a person particularly lucky, honest, sad, lovesick, or even sleepy." Terry smiled at Rosalita in a very good imitation of her self-satisfied smirk.

"That's correct as well," said the professor. "Five more points to Ravenclaw."

"But sir," said Rosalita quickly, trying to make it look as though she was still smarter than Terry "you asked for a generic definition of a potion. Terry gave you a definition of several different types of potions."

"Those several different types of potions still affect the overall definition of a potion," Terry snapped back. "Potions can change emotions, not just chemical or physical properties."

"If you two don't stop I am taking all those points back," snapped the professor, and Rosalita and Terry stopped talking at once, though both were looking daggers at each other. "Today, we will be concocting a simple color-changing potion."

"Please," muttered Rosalita, "I've already made seven of those."

"Ms. Arias, do you have something more to say?" asked the professor, raising his eyebrows.

"Sir, I was wondering if perhaps I could try a more difficult potion, seeing as I am obviously much more _advanced _than this class," said Rosalita unblushingly in her annoyingly superior tone. Terry mimed vomiting into his cauldron. Merope could see why he didn't like her.

"Ms. Arias, you will follow the approved curriculum no matter how 'advanced' you consider yourself to be." The professor tapped the blackboard. "This is the method. All your ingredients are in your basic potions kits, and you will be working with your tablemates. You have one hour, fifteen minutes. Begin."

"C'mon, get out your supplies, hurry," Terry nagged Merope without sparing her a glance. He was to busy glaring at Rosalita as he cut his ingredients as fast as he could. Rosalita, it seemed, had been true to her word in making several of those potions already. She wasn't bothering to look at the board, and was already stirring in her third ingredient.

"Here, chop those up," Terry ordered, passing a few caterpillars to Merope. "And make sure they're even."

"Calm down," said Merope. Terry was sweating with the effort of beating Rosalita.

"Oh, god, if you can't do it, then I will," said Terry, frustrated, and he took back the caterpillars and chopped them in about three seconds before tossing them into the cauldron.

"Then what do I do?" demanded Merope.

"Stay out of the way."

Merope rolled her eyes and stepped back. She noticed that Rosalita's partner, a tall, sandy-haired Ravenclaw boy was not even bothering to try and help anymore.

After twenty minutes of working, Rosalita stepped away from her cauldron to let it stew. Terry, who was four steps behind her, gritted his teeth and muttered mean things under his breath and picked up his pace. Five minutes later, he too had stepped away from his cauldron. He set his watch for ten minutes and sat back down next to Merope, fidgeting madly and glaring at Rosalita.

"I _hate _that girl," he muttered. "She thinks she's _so smart,_ just because she's memorized the whole stupid textbook…_anybody _could memorize a textbook if they wanted. She's probably lying, Merope."

"What a thing to lie about," replied Merope sarcastically.

"Seriously! You know, I'm going to memorize all my textbooks tonight," Terry promised. "I'll bet you anything I could memorize stuff better than her."

"I'll bet you could," said Merope, rolling her eyes. "You need to relax."

"What?" Terry looked incredulous. "Merope, weak people relax! Slackers relax! People who don't relax get the grades, the jobs—"

"The heart attacks?" suggested Merope.

"Sometimes." Rosalita started to add more ingredients. "Crap, she's started again. There's no way that was ten minutes for her. You know what? I only think she did seven. She's gonna screw up because she wasn't patient enough. I hope she screws up."

"When do I get to help with the potion?" Merope complained.

"Once I've beaten Rosalita," Terry told her.

"What's the big deal?" said Merope. "So she does a color-change solution faster than you—"

"Merope, this is a huge deal!" Terry exclaimed. "I'm better at this than she is! I'm not going to let some stuck-up future drag queen beat me!"

"Terry, drag queens are cross-dressing homosexual men."

"Or, in a word, Rosalita Arias." His watch beeped. "Ten minutes. Finally."

Terry got back to work on the potion. Fifteen minutes later, Rosalita stepped away from her cauldron.

"Professor, I'm finished," she called. Terry gritted his teeth and threw in the last of his ingredients.

"I'm finished too," Terry said. He looked exhausted, but pleased. The potion was changing colors in rainbow order, just like the blackboard described.

"Yes, but I finished _first_," Rosalita said, standing up a little straighter. Some of the students stopped to listen. Shaela Malfoy, Merope noticed, hadn't done anything at all to the potion; she was shouting at a little Ravenclaw girl, who was nervously adding ingredients as fast as she could.

"Yeah, but I did mine better than you!" Terry shouted back.

"Are you kidding me? That load of mush?"

"At least mine isn't all clumpy!"

"My potion is NOT clumpy!"

"Excuse me, do you have EYES? It's like oatmeal!"

"You take that back!"

"OKAY, stop shouting!" the professor yelled. Merope noticed that the entire class was staring at them. "Everyone back to work! Rosalita, let's see your potion."

The professor looked at the potion. "Nice job." Rosalita looked pleased.

"Now mine," Terry said eagerly. The professor looked into the cauldron.

"Perfect, Mr. Longbottom," commented the professor.

"See, Rosalita? Mine's _perfect_," Terry called over. "Yours is just _nice._ Mine is _perfect._"

"Oh, he just pities you," Rosalita snapped, though she was trying to look into Terry's cauldron to see if it was really perfect. "There's no such thing as a perfect potion, everyone who's read _Advanced Potion Making_ knows that."

"'Perfect' is still a better comment than just 'nice job,'" Terry replied.

"If you two don't shut your mouths I'm going to glue your teeth together in your sleep!" shouted Collin Yu from the back of the room. Terry and Rosalita glared at each other before sitting back down, muttering under their breaths.

The bell rang a few minutes later, and the class bustled out of the room.

_.:That Terry kid's annoying:. _

_I didn't know he was that competitive._

_.:He's got issues, Merope. I'll bet you that someday he's gonna commit suicide or something:. _

_He's not self-destructive. _

_.:So, wanna tell me why we woke up on the edge of the Forbidden Forest?:. _

_Okay, _I _woke up on the edge of the Forest, not _we. _I control the brain, remember? _

_.:Yeah, fine, whatever:. _

_It was weird. I think I sleep-walked or something, because remember, I was dreaming about the Forest. _

_.:I don't remember. I can't see your dreams:. _

_You can't? _

_.:No, moron. I see your thoughts. That's it. There's another guy that controls dreams and stuff:. _

_Wait, there's _MORE _of you in there?!_

_.:Well, yeah! There's logic—me—and then there's the dream and memory kid, and then there's emotions—that's you. And then we've got the guys who sort through the images your eyes send us, and the guys that do all the things the nerves tell them to do, and then there's Boss, who makes sure everything is going okay. You know, like so you don't go insane or have brain problems or something. People who have bad Bosses are the ones who turn out cracked:. _

_…oh. _

_.:You have a lot to learn about your head:. _

_Does everyone know this much about their head? _

_.:I dunno. Why are you always asking me stuff like that? I only know the stuff you know, the stuff that's in your brain. The only things that I know that you don't are the way things work in your brain, since I live here and you can't see inside your head:. _

_Wait. If you can't see my dreams, then do you have your own dreams? _

_.:I don't sleep. I stay awake, figuring stuff out. That's how people always have breakthrough moments in the mornings. Their subconscious is thinking stuff out:. _

_That's a little freaky. _Merope really didn't like the idea of multiple "people" with minds of their own sitting up in her head. _How come the others aren't talking to me? _

_.:I'm more advanced than them. I'm the one who sees everything. They can't see anything. They just do their jobs. My job is to help you out, so I have to know these things:. _

_Do you have a name? _

_.:Just Merope, I think, because I'm part of you. What is that you call me? Non-Merope?:. _

_Yeah. _

_.:Interesting:. _

_Are you laughing at me? _

_.:A little:. _

_Do you want a name? _

_.:I don't care. Just…just call me Eporem:._

_ Eporem? Why Eporem? _

_.:Merope backwards. You know, cause I'm the opposite of you:. _

_Got it._

_.:You should pay attention. Your Charms professor is talking and you probably want to hear this:. _

_Right. _

Midnight

_"Come on, Merope!" said Terry, running up the spiral staircases. "Hurry up!" _

_"Wait, I'm coming!" Merope ran after him. He was going so fast it seemed like his feet never touched the ground. They tore up the stairs until they reached a stone gargoyle. The headmaster's office. _

_"We can't go in there," Merope said. _

_"Sure we can," Terry replied. "It doesn't look that dangerous." _

_"No," insisted Merope. "I don't want to get in trouble." _

_"But there's nothing up here," said Terry, pointing at the gargoyle. _

_"Well…" _

_"Look, I'll go in first." Terry whispered a password, and the gargoyle jumped aside. Terry stepped in. "See? Everything's fine." _

_"Well, I guess it looks alright," Merope said, and she stepped in next to Terry. _

_"Now let me show you something really cool," said Terry, but his voice was distorted and it made the hairs on Merope's neck stand on end. She gasped; the skin on Terry's face was falling off—in fact, all his skin was falling off—_

"NO!" Merope jolted herself awake, and again found herself standing in front of a stone gargoyle—the Headmaster's office—a pocketknife raised, ready to break in.

**A/N: **CLIFFHANGER!


	4. Unchained Serial Killer

**A/N: **Hey, all! So all the previous chapters have been written from Merope's point of view, and so, for the first time, we have a chapter written from someone else's point of view! You're gonna get to see a whole lot more of the other students, which is really exciting. Oh, and can you all do me a favor and tell me how you like the develpment of the characters so far? Because I'm afraid they're kind of flat at this point. MJ will be rounded out a little more in chapter four, but I would really appreciate the feedback. Although all in all, this is one of my favorite chapters. Especially the last bit.

Reviews:

Bluejay123: You have no life?! I sit at the computer and hit 'refresh' ten zillion times until a new review pops up! Trust me, you're fine. And I really appreciate you're input, so please don't stop reviewing!! And yes, I'm pathetic. I think I've mentioned this before, but I love Eporem too! I'm so glad she's been well recieved; she's definetely my favorite!

girl of ireland 44: Love your word choice! Ha, ha, that Transfiguration teacher is a bit loony, isn't he? I wonder what's up with him, too...hmm...anyways, thanks for the input on Calvin! He makes me laugh too. Wow, ego trip, huh? And I'm going to stop talking now so you all can read this chapter!

**Chapter Three**

Unchained Serial Killer

"_Dan," _James hissed, wrenching open the hangings of Dan's bed. He had been up for hours, unable to sleep, contenting himself with staring at the little dots on the Marauder's Map.

"Urgh…" Dan rolled over in bed, pulling his covers up over his head.

"Come on, get up!" James pulled the covers back off of Dan.

"Cut it out, James!"

"Seriously, man, wake up," James told Dan.

"Shut up, Potter!" shouted the boy in the bed next to Dan. James was quite sure his name was Nathaniel Stevens.

"Sorry," James whispered. He crept over to the windowsill where a jug of water was perched. He brought it back over to the bed and poured it over Dan.

"What the hell!" Dan shouted, shooting up and looking as though he wanted to strangle James. "Do you have any idea what time it is?!"

"Do YOU have any idea what time it is?!" Nathaniel Stevens retorted loudly, wrenching open his hangings. "For your information _Danielle_, it is three in the morning and unless I turn into a bat or a vampire in four seconds I should not be awake. One. Two. Three. Four. Oh, well what do you know? Not a bat! Dear Lord, I hope I'm a vampire so I can suck the blood from you're skinny little girl neck!" Nathaniel jerked the hangings shut again.

Ignoring Nathaniel's outburst James turned back to Dan, though was sure to whisper this time. "Look at this." James pushed the Map at Dan.

"Brilliant. The Map. I don't think I've seen that in, oh…five, six hours?"

"Cut it out, Dan, it's MJ." James pointed to the girl's dormitory. It showed three dots, labeled Andrie Anderson, Jean Emmerson, and Nalane VenTuri, but no Mary Joan Weasly.

"Come on, James, she's probably in the bathroom or something," Dan sighed. "I'm going back to bed. Now."

"No, wait. If she's going to the bathroom, then why is she here?" James pointed to MJ's dot, which was pacing a corridor far from Gryffindor Tower.

"Who cares? She's a nutcase, let her be a moron. She's gonna get caught in a second, anyway, see? There's Lupin coming down the hallway, right at her." Dan pointed to the dot labeled "Remus Lupin" that was approaching MJ's dot. James looked at it for a while, and watched in shock as MJ's dot stayed stationary as Lupin's passed her and walked through a tapestry and away.

"What!" James yelped. "No _way_!"

"Potter, I was serious about the vampire thing!" Nathaniel yelled.

"What _now_?" sighed Dan.

James ran over to his trunk and rifled through it, searching frantically for his invisibility cloak. It wasn't there.

"MJ's got my cloak!" he whispered to Dan.

"Are you really surprised?" Dan said exhaustedly. "She's always taking stuff from us…"

"But this is the _cloak!" _

"James, calm down and go to bed."

"She _took _it!"

"I distinctly recall you taking the Map from Evelinne."

"Okay, that's different," said James. "She's my sister, and she stole it from Neville in the first place."

"It's really not that different. MJ's your cousin."

"Dan—".

"Look, when you live with MJ for eleven years, you get used to the stupid things she does. Relax. It's not like she's stealing it. She's gonna give it back."

"What if she rips it?!" hissed James.

"James, I don't think it _can _rip."

"She breaks _everything_!"

"MJ knows how important the cloak is. She's probably got some cracked up scheme that she'll need it for later. She'll be careful with it."

"I'm gonna go find her," James decided, "and you're gonna come with me."

"That's what you think."

"You're such a wimp," James told him.

"No, I'm just not a moron."

"Oh, get up." James tugged Dan out of his bed and pushed him to the door.

"James, if we get caught, I'm going to make MJ kill you."

"Shut up and we won't."

James slipped the Map into his back pocket as he and Dan crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, and out into the hallway.

"What are you two doing?" demanded the Fat Lady.

James and Dan looked at each other and didn't answer.

"Well, just don't expect me to let you back in!" the Fat Lady called after them as the two dashed down the hallway. They rounded a corner and stood under a torch on the wall as James unfolded the Map again.

"Okay." James found MJ's dot; it was going up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. "What's she doing in the Astronomy Tower?"

"I don't want to know," Dan grumbled. "C'mon, I wanna get back to bed. Are there any teachers coming our way?"

"Lupin's in his study, Filch is in the dungeons, and Mrs. Norris is in the Charms corridor." James traced a path up to the Astronomy Tower with his finger. "If we go through _that _tapestry then we've pretty much got a clear path."

"Wait. Peeves," Dan reminded James. "Where's he?"

James consulted the Map. "Annoying the owls in the Owelry. We're safe."

Dan and James pushed through the tapestry on the wall and up a set of stairs, and then another. Suddenly, Dan stopped and flung out his arm to halt James as well, knocking the wind out of him.

"Bloody hell, what—"

"SH!"

James listened intently. He could hear a faint sobbing sound coming down the stairs.

"What now?" he mouthed at Dan.

"How should I know, this is your idea!" Dan mouthed back, exasperated.

James tugged on Dan's shirt and they both started down the stairs as softly as they could, when suddenly James tripped.

"ARGH!" shouted Dan as James fell on top of him. The two of them bounced down the rest of the stairs making more noise than James thought was humanly possible.

"Who's there?" asked a girl's voice thickly. The speaker rounded the corner and James and Dan froze. It was the ghost of a girl a few years older than the boys, with thick, round glasses.

"Er…hi," said Dan.

"Who are you?" she sniffed.

"I'm…er…James, and this is Dan," said James, edging up the staircase. "We'll…er…we'll just be going now…"

"Of course, nobody cares how _I'm _feeling right now," the ghost sniffed. "Nobody ever stops to talk to _me._"

"Oh. I'm…er…sorry," Dan said, walking up after James. "Goodbye."

"Why doesn't anybody _care_!?" wailed the ghost. James and Dan cringed; the noise was sure to wake everybody. "Nobody wants to talk to me! Nobody cares about Myrtle, NOBODY!"

"No—stop, stop crying, please!" James said hoarsely. "What can we do?"

Myrtle sniffed a little, seeming to calm down.

"Well, it all started in my first year," she said reminiscently. "I was going to Transfiguration, minding my own business, and then that nasty Olive Hornby walked right up to me and started making fun of my glasses! In front of everybody! Oh, the humiliation! I felt like disappearing off the face of the earth! How could anybody be so _mean_?" Myrtle paused, as though waiting for an answer. Dan and James looked at each other; this was not what they had bargained for.

"Er…maybe she didn't know you cared that much?" Dan guessed.

"Of COURSE she knew!" Myrtle exclaimed. "She kept right at it! Later on that week, when we were in the Great Hall, she thought it would be funny to steal all my books! When I got them back, she had crossed out my name and written 'Freaky Glasses' in instead! And then, in my second year…"

Dan was looking daggers at James; James could tell this was not where he wanted to be. James, however, couldn't think of a way to get them out of this.

"Here's the deal," Dan hissed to James. "You're gonna sit here with nutso girl and _I'm_ going back to bed."

"If I've gotta stay here with the basket case then so do you," James whispered back.

"This was _your_ idea. Not mine. Yours."

"…and I just never knew _why_, because Mariko Okada wore glasses too, but Olive only made fun of _me_."  
"Who's Mariko Okada?" asked James absently.

"Oh, she was in my year," said Myrtle scornfully. "A Hufflepuff. She had these huge glasses, but Olive Hornby never went near her."

James looked at Dan and kicked him.

"Oh. Why do you think that was?" James said, feigning interest.

"I expect it was _Quidditch_," Myrtle scoffed. "She was quite the Chaser. She was always taking that big red ball and putting into that stupid hoop…like that was a big deal…_you _two don't play Quidditch, do you?"

"Actually, James is really good at Keep—"

"No, of course not, no!" James cut across Dan, who was smirking at him. "We hate Quidditch, right Dan? All those _balls _and _rules…_we prefer chess." Dan rolled his eyes.

"Good." Myrtle looked at them for a moment. "What are you two doing out of bed anyways?"

"We're looking for Dan's sister," said James, deciding that telling the truth wouldn't hurt them now. "She's out of her dormitory and she stole something of mine, and I want it back."

"How do you know she's out of bed?" asked Myrtle shrewdly. James looked at Dan, who looked back with a _you're on your own, buddy_ stare.

"Er…twin telepathy," James invented. "Yeah. Dan and MJ…they're pretty tight."

"Uh huh," Dan added, "see, right now she's thinking about…" Dan squinted and distorted his face as though thinking really hard, "about how stupid James is."

"_Your glasses are stupid." _

"What?" James asked.

"MJ thinks you're stupid," replied Dan.

"No, not that. Shut up for a minute, it wasn't you."

"What's going on?" asked Myrtle fearfully.

"SH!" James hushed her.

"_Freaky glasses, freaky glasses!" _

"Who's there?!" Myrtle demanded in a high, strangled voice.

"_Myrtle…Myrtle…" _

"Dan, what are you doing?" James hissed.

"Nothing, it isn't me!" Dan looked extremely frightened.

"Go away!" Myrtle told the voice. "I haven't done anything to you!"

"_How could you forget how you haunted me? How you hunted me down, day after day, making my life a living hell?" _

"Olive?" asked Myrtle incredulously. "Olive, you know full well this was entirely your fault!"

"_I was so afraid of you I didn't eat, and I didn't sleep. You've killed me, Myrtle. You killed me!" _

"What's going on?" Dan demanded.

"_WOOOOO!" _Olive Hornby's ghost shouted, and Myrtle wailed. She floated as fast as she could out of the tapestry that Dan and James had come in from.

"Er…Olive?" said James cautiously, "We haven't done anything to you…please don't hurt us…"

Then, Olive started laughing. The laugh was sounding less like Olive Hornby and more and more like…

"MJ! What the hell!" Dan groped at the air for a while before grabbing hold of the invisibility cloak and pulling it off of MJ, who was still doubled over laughing.

"What're you mad at me for? I saved you from that moron!" MJ said once her laughing had subsided. "You were so scared, you both completely bought it!"

"I did not!" Dan said superiorly.

"'What's going on?' 'I'm not doing anything!' 'Please don't hurt us!'" MJ mocked them.

"Please," Dan scoffed, "we knew it was you the entire time. Right, James?"

"Yeah," said James, trying to sound convincing, but MJ didn't buy it. "Give me back my cloak," he demanded.

"Calm down, Mr. Tight-ass," said MJ. "It's fine, see?" She held out the cloak for him to feel. James grabbed the cloak from her and examined it.

"How'd you get it?" James asked shrewdly.

"Don't ask questions, ask answers," MJ told him vaguely.

"What?"

"The limits of your language are the limits of your world."

"MJ—"

"A friend is worth a thousand words. Tell yours they've used them up." MJ took back the cloak. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got places to do and things to be."

"You mean, places to be and things to do," Dan corrected.

"No." MJ pulled the cloak over herself.

"No, no, no, no, _no_." James grabbed the cloak. "Where do you think you're going, young lady?"

"'_Young lady?'_" MJ stopped and turned to James. It struck James quite suddenly how much taller she was. "I'm four months older!"

"Give me that." James wrenched the cloak out of MJ's grip.

"Hey!" MJ pinched him.

"Ow!" James exclaimed, and MJ took the cloak back.

"Ha, ha."

"It's mine, it was my dad's!" James protested, lunging for the cloak. MJ dodged and James fell.

"It's part mine too, it was my uncle's!" James grabbed a corner of the cloak and they began a sort of tug-of-war game, ending with James in a headlock. Dan watched, laughing, to James's displeasure.

"Okay, so I've got the cloak and I know where your pressure points are," MJ told James firmly, "so I'm going to tell you what you're gonna do and you're gonna do it."

"What if I don't?" James asked. Dan was smirking.

"I'll scream, throw the cloak over myself, and watch you get caught," said MJ.

"You suck," James grumbled.

"And you're bad at Quidditch, but you can't win everything."

"I'm what?" James sputtered. "I'm better than you are!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, little Jamie."

"Dan, help me out here," James demanded.

"Dan, go back to bed," MJ told him.

"Good night, little Jamie," said Dan, waving good-bye and walking away.

"It's James!" James hissed.

"Get under the cloak," MJ ordered. She forced James under and pulled the cloak on.

"Where are we going?" James wanted to know.

"Hell, probably."

"Is this going to be illegal?!" James balked.

"Define 'illegal,'" said MJ unconcernedly.

"Not legal!"

"Very specific. Get out your map. Where the hell are we?"

"I don't know, I can't see anything, stupid."

"Well, if your not going to be helpful then I think you should shut your pie hole!"

"You know what I think?"

"I don't care what you think."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do." James stopped suddenly and looked straight into MJ's eyes. "You do care what I think," he said in a spooky voice. He moved his hand in a circle around MJ's head. "You will care about everything I do. You are going into a trance. You are under my complete control. When I snap my fingers—OW!" MJ grabbed his hand and bent his fingers backwards.

"You are the weirdest kid I've ever met." MJ pulled the map out of James's back pocket and whacked him on the head with it. "Now seriously, shut up. We'll get caught, it's a wonder we haven't al—"

"Who's there?"

MJ and James froze.

"I heard voices. Who's there?"

The voice sounded vaguely familiar to James. It was a girl's, not a professor's. She couldn't be older than third year.

"I have a knife," she called down the hall. James and MJ looked at each other, and though the lighting was dim, James new that MJ was looking the same way as he was. He squinted down the corridor to size up the girl, but he couldn't see anything.

"James, do you trust me?" MJ breathed, trying to make as little noise as possible.

"Not a bit."

"Sucker." MJ yanked the cloak off of James, pulled it around herself, and ran towards the staircase they had come through. James heard the slapping of her sneakers get softer and softer until he couldn't hear her at all.

"What was that?" the voice demanded.

James stayed silent. He backed slowly into a wall, trying not to make any noise. There was a lantern flickering dimly above him, he realized, that was just bright enough for him to read the Map. He reached into his back pocket to get the Map, but nothing was there. He suddenly remembered MJ whacking him with it a few moments ago and cursed her in his mind.

"I was serious about the knife."

James said nothing.

"I can see your shadow. If you don't identify yourself right now I'm going to throw it at you."

James's breathing was getting shallower as he stayed rooted to the spot, bracing himself for the blow, but it did not come. With relief, he realized that the girl was bluffing.

But then he heard footsteps. She was coming towards him. Without thinking, he sprinted down the corridor, threw open the first door he could find, and dashed down the steps. James ran through corridor after corridor blindly, going down stairwell after stairwell, not caring how much noise he made. He tripped down a few stairs and found himself face-to-face with a yellow-eyed, very old cat. She looked at him once and then streaked off. James gulped; that had to be Mrs. Norris, the evil cat that belonged to the ancient Mr. Filch. His parents had warned him of them.

James ran down the hall, looking for a place to hide, and suddenly—magically—a door appeared in the wall that he hadn't noticed before. He wrenched it open and gasped: inside was what appeared to be the largest collection of junk he had ever seen. It was as if all of the broken or stolen things in the world had accumulated there. It was like MJ's bedroom, only on a much larger scale.

"Where did you say—"

James slammed the door shut; that was surely Mr. Filch, wheezing about medieval torturing devices and punishing students. He then turned his attention back to staring in wonder at the massive accumulation of junk before him. There were stacks of broken quills, ink bottles, used up parchment, cheat sheets for exams, even textbooks that looked as though they had been thrown up on or put through a paper shredder. But there was more than that. There were things James new to be banned from Hogwarts—things he had never been allowed to touch. There were also things that James new to be Dark or dangerous.

He edged away from a lethal looking skull and made his way through the aisles, looking in awe at all that was before him. Then—

"HA!" Something pulled James's robes up over his head and pushed him down. He untangled himself and looked around to see who or what had done it. In front of him was a pair of scuffed-up white sneakers.

MJ, of course, James said to himself. He reached out and grabbed at thin air. Then, he felt the invisibility cloak sliding between his fingers and pulled it off, stuffing it in his pocket before MJ could take it again.

"Come on, MJ, what was that about?" James pushed MJ.

"What? I do that all the time," she shrugged.

"You know what I mean," said James, referring to ditching him with the knife girl. MJ shrugged again.

"Every man for himself."

"I nearly DIED!" James shouted, exaggerating a little.

"Yeah, but you didn't, and that's all that matters." MJ sat down on a splintered cabinet and started fiddling idly with random objects around her. "I'm sick of hearing about me ditching you, so make yourself useful for once and don't talk about it anymore. It's pissing me off."

"Everything I do pisses you off."

"So stop doing stuff." MJ replaced what looked to be a small hourglass on a golden chain in the box she had retrieved it from.

"This is amazing," said James, staring around at everything. He turned back to MJ. "You know what this place is?"

"The remnants of the world's largest garage sale?" replied MJ, standing up next to her cousin.

"Dad told us about it, remember?"

"Your dad or my dad?"

"My dad. This is that lost things room."

MJ paced around for a minute.

"Did you want to come here?"

"What?" asked James. "I dunno. Not specifically. I don't _not _want to be here."

"Well, neither did I." MJ stopped pacing. "That means the Room of Requirement _wants _us here."

"Why? _I_ haven't lost anything."

"Neither have I." MJ looked at James, a puzzled expression on her face. Then, her face lit up. "Wait. Yes, you have!"

"Whatever you took, give it back now," said James, annoyed.

"No, I already have. The invisibility cloak!"

"Then what's the big deal?"

"The room doesn't care about _you_," said MJ, "it transformed for _me_."

James thought about it, and it made sense. The room had only transformed for him because he needed his cloak, but MJ was already there.

"What does it want with you?" asked James.

"No idea," said MJ. "I think I'll ask your dad."

"Right." James took out the Map and scoured it for teachers in their area. "Coast is clear." MJ reached for the cloak, but James turned away. "Not this time." He threw the cloak over them, but kept a very firm hold on it as they walked out of the Room of Requirement.

* * *

_My beloved daughters,_

_How has your first day been? I hope it has been splendid. However, due to recent events, I need to speak with you immediately. It is to private to say in this letter, so just be sure to be in front of the Slytherin common room fire on the night of the youngest of you three's birth at three in the morning. Ensure that you are alone. _

_Love,_

_Your doting father_

**A/N: **Ah, who could this mysterious note be addressed to? Any guesses? HAHAHA!


	5. Unchained Intervention

**A/N: **Hello, again! This chapter, we're about to up the ante a little bit. Or a lot.

Disclaimer: if I'm JKR, then what the hell am I doing on Fanfiction?

**Chapter Four**

Unchained Intervention

The next day, in double Charms, most of the students seemed more inattentive than usual. Merope could not stop herself from yawning, even though the class was not the least bit dull. Shaela Malfoy kept shooting glances at her from across the room, which Merope ignored. She was preoccupied with a trio of Gryffindors in the back, separate from the others, which consisted of Dan, MJ, and James, who appeared deep in conversation. MJ and James bore distinct signs of having been up late, and Merope even caught Dan stifling the occasional yawn.

And then, to Merope's surprise, MJ pointed discreetly at her. Did MJ know she had been out again the night before? Was it them who had come upon her in the corridor—the ones she had threatened to stab?

_.:Who else could it have been?:. _

Merope, still getting used to Eporem's sudden bursts of speech, jumped a little.

_I dunno. I couldn't see them, or hear them, or anything. _

_.:It appears that they suspect you:. _

_Thanks, Sherlock. _

_.:Well, you're the one who decided threatening to kill them would be a good idea:. _

_What the hell was I supposed to do? It was pitch black—it could have been anybody. Besides, I wasn't _really _going to do it. And you certainly were not helping. _

_.:Who said I was here to help?:. _

_You are the worst subconscious ever. _

The bell rang, drowning out Eporem's response. Merope gathered her books and headed out onto the grounds for break. It was a nice day, and Merope thought she might catch a few minutes' sleep in the shade before History of Magic. However, it was not so.

"It's Merope, right?" said James Potter. He, Dan, and MJ had come upon Merope.

"Yeah," Merope replied, wondering what on earth they were going to say to her.

"Where were you last night?" MJ demanded, almost brutally.

_.:What a lovely little ray of sunshine:. _

"Sleeping," said Merope simply.

"If you were sleeping, then why are you so tired now?" MJ pressed, moving closer to Merope, who backed up and found herself pinned to the castle walls.

"You look pretty tired yourself," replied Merope, who was trying not to guess how well MJ could potentially beat her up.

However, at that MJ backed off.

"Fair enough," she said, straightening up. Over MJ's shoulder, Merope could see James and Dan, who were in conversation—they did not seem to care about MJ's intervention.

"It was you last night, wasn't it?" said MJ in a low voice. She didn't look like she was going to hurt Merope, which Merope took as a good sign. Perhaps she was just curious.

_.:Don't you dare say a word, Fallon. You'll get yourself screwed over, mark my words:. _

"I don't know what you're talking about," Merope obliged.

"I'll give it to you—it was me and James in the corridor," said MJ, speaking softer still. "And I'm not gonna tell anyone if you admit you were there too."

"I don't care," replied Merope, trying to sound nonchalant. "I've already got a detention—what's one more?"

"So it _was _you."

_.:Smart move:. _

"No," Merope said flatly.

"You're a little bit infuriating, you know that?" said MJ, frustrated.

"Right back at you."

MJ looked at Merope, sizing her up.

"I know your voice," MJ said, so softly that Merope had to lean in to hear her, "and I'm sure it was you. I don't give a damn what you were doing. I just wanted to know—how'd you get round without being caught?"

"I dunno," said Merope, slightly louder than MJ, but not much. "Got lucky, I guess."

"Nobody _gets lucky_ in this place," MJ told her, "what with that git Filch and his bloody cat. You haven't got…I dunno…an invisibility cloak or anything, do you?"

"No."

The bell rang, saving Merope from MJ's questioning. She picked up her bag and headed in to class, not quite knowing what to make of the conversation.

That Wednesday Merope had her first ever History of Magic lesson. It appeared that word had spread fast of the dullness of that class, and therefore the room was half empty. Only one of the Slytherin boys, Collin Yu, bothered to show up, though there were several Gryffindors. Merope recognized the tall girl, Andrie, as well as two other girls and boys that she knew by sight but not by name. Dan Weasly and James Potter were missing, and Merope was surprised to see MJ Weasly twisting her wand between her fingers in the corner of the class. .

Merope sat down by MJ, who looked up but did not glare. Merope took that as a good sign.

MJ scrawled something on a strip of parchment and passed it to Merope. Merope looked at MJ and mouthed, "Me?" at her. MJ nodded. Tentatively, Merope opened the note.

_You're friends with Terry, right? _said MJ.

_Yeah. Why? _

_He says I'm supposed to be nice to you, _MJ continued.

_Are you going to be? _Merope scribbled.

_You aren't half bad, Fallon, _wrote MJ.

_Is that a yes or a no? _

_Thinking it's a yes, _MJ scribbled after a slight pause. She hesitated again and took the note back. When she replaced it on Merope's desk, there was more writing on it.

_Want to help me pull a prank? _

_Who on? _asked Merope.

_That Malfoy girl. I hate that kid. _

_Me too. I have to share a freaking dormitory with her, _replied Merope.

_Oh, I forgot you were a Slytherin. This is going to be easier than I thought, _said MJ.

_What're we gonna do?_

_I'm still figuring out the kinks, but as soon as I can get James on board we'll be all set. When'll Malfoy be out of the dormitory? _asked MJ.

_I dunno. I—oh, I know! She takes remedial Transfiguration. So…that's Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from seven to eight. _

_Perfect._

On Sunday Merope decided to head down to the library first thing. She had been so busy with school—and attempting to control Eporem—that she hadn't had any time to try and find information on her parentage.

_.:You have homework. You shouldn't be messing around with stupid things like this:. _

Merope decided to ignore her, and after asking for directions about eight times, she found herself at the library. However, it was much larger and much less navigable than Merope had expected. Ceiling to floor was plastered with shelves full of books. Thousands and thousands of books.

Merope sighed and ran her fingers along the spines, looking for any book that could have anything to do with genealogy.

"What're you looking for?"

Merope jumped, but it was only Terry.

"Oh, hi," said Merope. "Just a book."

"Way to be specific."

_.:NOSY:._

_Shut up, I'm trying to have a conversation._

_.:Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight—:. _

Merope shook her head and tried to tune Eporem out. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell Terry exactly what she was looking for or not.

"Genealogy," said Merope, trying to keep the topic as broad as possible.

"Try over there," said Terry, pointing to a shelf across the room. Merope checked the shelf, and sure enough, Terry was right. She wondered vaguely how he knew that—had he already been all the way through the library?

"What're you looking for? Want me to help you?"

Merope hesitated.

"I'm okay," she said, deciding she didn't want to tell Terry exactly how little she new about her family.

"Right," said Terry. "See you, then."

Merope watched Terry walk out of the library, and then turned back to the books. She pulled off the first one she could see, and flipped through the pages, looking for a "Fallon."

_.:This is a waste of time:. _

_You're a waste of time._

Merope checked the index and found her last name. She flipped to the corresponding page and found, to her shock, an entire family tree. It was, quite literally, every Fallon that had ever existed. The tree went on for pages and pages…Merope had no idea she had that many relatives. Towards the end, she saw Nella's name, connected to the names of Merope's aunt and uncle. But then she realized that Nella's was the last name on the tree. How could that be? Merope was younger than Nella, by more than ten years…

The book must be wrong, Merope decided. Or out of date…she _was_ fourteen years younger than Nella, after all. But all of Merope's potential parents already had children, and those children were far to young to have children of their own—none of them were even married.

_.:Maybe you were raised by wolves:. _

_I wasn't raised by wolves. _

_.:Well, you obviously weren't raised by people:. _

_I was raised by people, Eporem. Just…not these people._

Merope trudged back to the Slytherin dungeons. She slumped down into a chair in the common room and put her head in her hands, trying to think it through.

_.:So what're you gonna do?:._

_You seem to have all the answers. Why don't you just tell me? _

_.:N-n-n-n-no. That's not how it works. You've gotta try and figure it out on your own:. _

_You don't know, do you? _

_.:Pretty much:. _

_I don't know what_ _to do. _

_.:I'll bet your parents abandoned you in a dumpster:. _

_I'm sure they did. _

_.:You were probably a mistake, you know:. _

_I know. _

_.:Maybe you're in the witness protection program:. _

_How could I be in the witness protection program when I've never witnessed anything? _

_.:You were probably Obliviated:. _

_I'm not in the witness protection program. I would know it if I was. _

_.:Maybe your parents are dead:. _

Merope paused, and with a jolt she realized that it was not only totally possible, but almost probable.

_Maybe. _

Merope was silent for a while. Though it was only nine, Merope ascended the stairs to the dormitory and fell into bed, dragging the hangings around herself.

3:00 A.M.

The dormitory door shut. Merope woke up and sat bolt-upright in her bed. Peeking through her hangings, she saw that Shaela Malfoy's bed was empty.

_.:Why the hell are you awake?:. _

_The door. It woke me up. Shaela Malfoy's gone. _

_.:Ah, so it appears that you are not the only one who prefers nighttime excursions. Are you gonna follow her?:._

_I was planning on it. _

_.:Well, you're just full of stupid ideas, aren't you?:. _

Merope slid out of bed, careful not to wake Mallory. That wasn't difficult; Mallory was a very deep sleeper. She took the stairs as quietly as she could—and then she heard voices.

"—we've got to do this at this hour." Merope recognized that as Shaela Malfoy's voice.

"Shaela, it's risky even now," said another voice, this one unfamiliar to Merope. It was deeper—a man's voice, she was sure—and Merope knew this man must be related to Shaela, for the voice was cool, and drawling, like a half-drunk person. "We cannot risk somebody overhearing."

"Just tell us already," said yet another voice. Like the other, this voice was similar, but not the same. Merope guessed that it was the voice of a girl.

"I have come to warn you," said the first voice. Merope flattened herself against the wall, straining to hear, thankful that Eporem had the sense to keep quiet.

"Warn us of what?" asked a new, worried voice. This one was softer than the others, but still contained a little of that Malfoy accent.

There was a very long pause. The air was very still. Merope was trying not to breathe, lest she miss something.

"I believe that the Dark Lord may be among us again."

An even longer pause followed this one.

"Father…you can't be serious," said the worried-sounding girl.

"I have never been more serious about anything in my entire life," said Mr. Malfoy, "and if you have any sense at all, then I strongly suggest that you think long and hard before disrespecting Him."

"Father, Mercy has a point," said the other girl, the one who was neither Shaela nor Mercy. "Harry Potter destroyed Him. It's impossible."

"The Dark Lord has done many impossible things, Lucinda," replied Mr. Malfoy darkly.

"Are…are you positive?" asked Shaela shakily. "How do you know?"

"Do not question your father, Shaela!" said Mr. Malfoy sharply. "He is back and that is all you need to know."

"What are we going to do?" asked Mercy, sounding terrified.

"You are going to do nothing," said Mr. Malfoy. "Keep your eyes and ears open. Tell no one."

"If we can't do anything, then why bother to tell us?" demanded Shaela angrily.

"Because you need to know!" Mr. Malfoy hissed. "Our family is in grave danger."

"Why our family?" asked Lucinda quickly.

"Everyone is in grave danger," Mr. Malfoy corrected himself. Merope was intrigued; she sensed that Mr. Malfoy had slipped up and said something he hadn't meant to say.

"Father, you're scaring me," said Mercy quietly. "Why does He want us?"

"Now is not the time or the place," said Mr. Malfoy quickly.

"Then what is the time and place?" demanded Shaela sharply.

"There is no time or place," snapped Mr. Malfoy. "You are to young, you wouldn't understand. It isn't of your concern."

"If it concerns our family it concerns me," Shaela snarled.

"Don't you take that tone with me."

"I'll take whatever tone I like!"

"Stop it, stop it!" Mercy whispered. "Someone'll hear us!"

There was a pause as Shaela and Mr. Malfoy composed themselves.

"I have not told your mother, and I don't intend to at the moment," said Mr. Malfoy stiffly.

"Why doesn't—"

"I have my reasons, Lucinda."

"Do you think He will try and attack Hogwarts?" asked Mercy worriedly.

"I don't know," said Mr. Malfoy. "He did last time. Lupin is not as powerful as Dumbledore."

"So it's a matter of time," said Shaela. Mr. Malfoy did not reply.

"Surely we must tell someone," Mercy said.

"No! Tell no one," Mr. Malfoy barked. "You must obey me. I know what I'm doing."

None of the girls said a word.

"Do you understand me?" hissed Mr. Malfoy.

"Yes, sir," they mumbled.

"Good. Now get on back to bed before you're caught," he ordered. Merope jumped, and hurled herself up the stairs and into her bed as fast as she could. She drew the hangings around herself and sat up against her headboard, breathing hard.

**A/N:** Suck on that.


	6. Unchained Argument

**A/N: **Hey, guys! Sorry about the long wait…I had this chapter half-written, but then I realized that it sucked so I had to re-do it. Then I started planning out things like Quidditch, which will come into play soon, and so I had to add a bunch of characters, which took ages. As of now, the character count is sixty-nine. And look, according to the hit count, over six hundred people have clicked on the story, and over four hundred are actually reading. I have nine reviews. Seriously, people, you're better than that.

**Disclaimer:** Don't sue me. I've got, like, seventy-three cents.

**Chapter Five**

**Unchained Argument**

James awoke that morning excited. This was the day that Ellen Brown, the Gryffindor team captain, would announce the results of the Quidditch tryouts, which had taken place over the weekend.

"Allow me to introduce last years' team, for those of you new to the pitch," said Ellen after all the aspiring Gryffindors had gathered around. James and MJ were among them. "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Ellen Brown, Seeker and captain," Ellen continued. She had a sort of aura of power and authority about her that James sensed immediately.

Ellen Brown was kind of a big deal. She was a sixth year with short, dark hair, gray eyes, and a bit of a temper. She was small but strong, and could have been a Beater as well as a Seeker. And she had already signed on with Puddlemere United.

Ellen Brown gestured to a girl standing beside her. She couldn't have been more than a fourth year. "This is Noor Emmerson, Lead Chaser. The rest of the Chasers graduated last year. And our Beaters, Jonathan Evans and Jamie White." Ellen pointed to a tall seventh year boy and a broad-shouldered girl. "As you are all probably aware, we are in need of a Keeper." MJ smirked and James; they would both be playing for the Keeper position.

Granted, they were first years, but MJ had Weasly talent and James had Potter talent. James's sister, fifteen-year-old Lily Evelinne, had been playing for Ravenclaw since her second year as a Chaser. Second year was respectable and all, but James was going to beat her. Bad.

"We're going to split into groups," Ellen Brown announced. "Chasers, over there with White and Evans. Keepers, that way." She pointed to opposite ends of the pitch. "I'm going to give you five minutes to warm up."

MJ smirked at James and kicked off the ground. James smirked to himself and followed her ascent.

"May as well give up now," said James. "Why don't you just give me the spot? It'll be easier for both of us."

"Oh, look at you, all confident and such," said MJ, unruffled. "We'll see whose laughing."

MJ sped off for a few laps around the pitch. James went in the other direction. He had a secret weapon—Evelinne's broom. Evelinne rode a Thunderbolt, a broom she had spent all her savings on just that summer. At first, their parents were furious, but then they figured out that their daughter was in possession of one of the best brooms money could buy and then they were all for it.

James HAD to make the team. It wasn't an option any more. His grandfather, James Potter—the first James Potter—had been one of the best Chasers Hogwarts had ever seen. His father was none other than Harry Potter, youngest Seeker in a century, who was married to Ginny Weasly, another notable Chaser. Then, of course, there was Lily Evelinne, who was a damn good Chaser—albeit a Ravenclaw, the first Ravenclaw Potter in years. Neville, James's oldest brother and a seventh year, did not play Quidditch. But he was Head Boy with twelve Outstanding OWL's.

Ellen Brown blew her whistle and James touched down next to MJ, who had not noticed he was on Evelinne's broom. There were only five other potential Keepers; word had spread fast about Ellen's intensive training. Three of them were sixth or seventh years, one a third year, and the other a fifth. They were all looking at James and MJ with varying degrees of pompousness.

"We're going to do this quickly," said Ellen. "One by one you're going to get up by the goal posts and Emmerson's going to shoot five times. Whoever performs best is on the team. Decisions are final, and all complainers will be hexed." She conjured a clipboard from air, and looked it over, sizing up the contenders. "Walker, you're up."

The fifth year mounted his broom and sped off into the air. Ellen Brown blew her whistle and Noor Emmerson, Quaffle under her arms, sped at him. He panicked and fell backwards off his broom.

One of the potential Chasers screamed.

"Oh, keep your pants on," James heard Jamie White scoff at the girl. "He's only fallen eight feet."

"Out," said Ellen Brown as Walker gingerly stood up. "Infirmary, now."

"Did I make it?" he asked weakly.

"Hell no," said Ellen. She turned back to the remaining Keepers, looking harassed. "If any of you are planning on falling off your brooms or doing something equally daft, then I suggest you get lost now and stop wasting our time."

"Well, she's a bit of a bitch," MJ whispered to James.

"Weasly!" Ellen said. "Have you got something to say?"

James stepped back away from MJ, not wanting to take part in this. MJ looked right at Ellen—she was nearly her height.

"Yeah, I reckon I do," said MJ. "I was just telling Potter here that I think you're a bit of a bitch."

Ellen Brown looked at MJ with a mixture of curiosity, surprise, and was it admiration?

"Fair enough. Weasly, you're up, then."

MJ mounted her broom and shot up into the air. Ellen Brown blew her whistle and Noor Emmerson shot at MJ. Unlike Walker, MJ didn't scream or fall—she stayed stationary in front of the middle post. Emmerson shot—and scored. Ellen Brown marked a note on her clipboard.

Emmerson shot again, but this time MJ was ready. She blocked it easily with the tail of her broom, and the next with her forehead. Emmerson looked mildly surprised, and Ellen had stopped making notes. Emmerson charged at MJ from half field and shot over MJ's head at such a strange angle it seemed impossible to block, but MJ caught the Quaffle easily and tossed it back. Emmerson shot once more—but MJ missed. She shot back to the ground.

"Mary Joan, is it?" inquired Ellen Brown.

"MJ, actually," said MJ.

"Got it. You'll be a first year, then?"

"It appears so."

"Why should I put you on this team?" asked Ellen. MJ stood straight and thought for a minute.

"Because you'll lose if you don't."

"Right, then," said Ellen. "You can go back, or you can stick around and watch."

"Okay." MJ walked off the pitch, and didn't look back.

"Sorenson," Ellen Brown called. The sixth year mounted his broom. He saved all five goals, hands down. Ellen marked nothing on the clipboard.

The other two seventh years saved four and five, respectively. The third year saved two. Ellen asked all of them questions, and then it was James's turn.

"Potter," Ellen said. "Evelinne from Ravenclaw's your sister, right?"

"Right," said James.

"Thought so. I expect this to be a damn good tryout, then."

James nodded, now feeling a little nauseous. The Chasers had finished the first bit of their tryouts, which, James knew, consisted of dodging Bludgers. He could tell that Ellen wanted to leave, and he needed to let her know that he was worth it.

Noor Emmerson sped at him, and James blocked the goal. He blocked the next, and the next, and the one after that, and even the one after that. He sped back down to the ground, where Ellen was making a note on the clipboard.

"Not bad, Potter," said Ellen. She didn't look approving or disapproving or anything. She had the world's best poker face. "That's Evelinne's broom, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"She might need that back."

"I know."

"Why do you want to play?" Ellen asked him. "What good'll putting you on this team do? Are you gonna improve?"

"I…uh…" James, though he had expected a questioning after his tryout, found himself at a loss for an answer. "I, well, I just really like Quidditch. And I suppose I'll improve….yeah, and I think you should put me on the team."

Ellen just looked at him for a while, as if trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible. When James felt like he was going to explode, Ellen Brown finally took mercy and dismissed him.

Though James had saved all five goals, he was nervous. That seventh year and a sixth year saved all five as well. He checked his clock. Six a.m. Sighing, James got up and went down to the common room, careful not to wake anyone else. He may as well sit in the common room and wait for Ellen Brown to put up the results.

He was not the only one. About a third of the other hopefuls were already up and waiting. Nobody was really talking, except for a few chatty potential Chasers in the corner, each lamenting their lacking tryout and wishing for a re-do. Most of the other potential Keepers were completely ignoring James, because they didn't see him as anything of a threat. He was only a first year, after all. The whole novelty of being a Potter seemed to have worn off. Neville, James's oldest brother and a current seventh-year, had been through it, as had Evelinne, though to a lesser degree. Not that James was sorry about it—he preferred going un-noticed anyways.

The girls' staircase creaked, and everyone in the common room jumped. They turned and watched Ellen Brown, dressed in her pajamas, descend the stairs with a scroll in her hand and a slight smirk on her face.

"Bit eager now, are we?" said Ellen, amused.

"Just post it already, Brown," said a potential Chaser.

Ellen strode over to the notice board and pinned up the scroll.

Everyone flocked towards it, and shouts of joy and agony speared the air. James squeezed in through the older students.

GRYFFINDOR QUIDDITCH TEAM 2014-2015 SEASON

CAPTAIN: BROWN

LEAD CHASER: EMMERSON

SWEEP CHASER A: MASSARO

SWEEP CHASER B: GRIFFITH

BEATER A: EVANS

BEATER B: WHITE

KEEPER: WEASLY

SEEKER: BROWN

James's heart sank. It had to be a mistake—MJ had only saved three goals. He had saved five. How had she beaten him? James read the list again. Ellen Brown's handwriting was hardly readable. Maybe he had read it wrong…but it seemed impossible to get "Potter" out of "Weasly," no matter how bad the penmanship was.

James wanted to complain, but he remembered Ellen's threat at the tryouts—all complainers will be hexed.

"Weasly?" said the seventh year that had saved five. "Which one was Weasly?"

"That first year girl," said the third year.

"Didn't she only save, like, two?" the seventh year exclaimed.

"Three," said the fifth year Keeper.

"What the hell is Ellen thinking?!" exclaimed the other seventh year. "If she let in two at tryouts, then imagine what she'll do in a real game!"

"What seems to be the problem over here?" asked Ellen Brown coolly, and all the Keepers fell silent. "Anybody? Marisol, you seemed put out. Have you got an issue with the team?"

Marisol, the second seventh year, looked uncomfortable; James could tell that Ellen intimidated her. However, she spoke in an unwavering tone.

"The Weasly girl only saved three. I saved four. Him and Potter and Andrew-" Marisol pointed to the sixth year-"saved five."

"So you want to know why Weasly's on instead of you all," Ellen said. "Fine. She's the only one of you with any confidence in herself whatsoever, she's creative in her blocks, she didn't get frustrated when she missed a shot, she flies decently, she's a first year, so she'll get seven years' experience, by which time she'll be unstoppable, she's smart, she thinks like a Chaser, she doesn't need the help of a top-of-the-line broom to get herself on the team, she wants this more than all of you put together, and she had the best tryout of all of you, even though she didn't save them all."

Ellen left the common room with no other words, most likely to keep herself from being bombarded with complaints from the Chasers. Just then, MJ walked down the steps of the girls' dormitory, checked the list, smirked at James, and followed Ellen out of the common room.

"I told you it was a bad idea, didn't I?" Eporem was saying. She was out of Merope's head again—the two of them were conversing in a broom closet while the rest of the school was at breakfast, discussing the events of the night before. "I told you, but did you listen? No. You just had to get all wrapped up into this whole bloody mess…you need to listen to me, Merope! You're gonna end up—are you listening to me?"

"No," Merope said. She was sitting on an upturned bucket, her head in her hands. "Can't you shut up for a minute and help me figure this out?"

"There's nothing to figure out," Eporem snapped. "You're gonna keep your mouth shut."

"Yeah, uh, Eporem, in case you haven't noticed, Voldemort's back," Merope told her testily. "Are you actually suggesting that we forget that we know?"

"Yes."

"Uh, WHY?"

"Don't shout. Someone'll hear us," hissed Eporem. "Think it through, Merope. How reliable are our sources, huh? We don't even know who Shaela Malfoy was talking to."

"Yeah, it was her dad."

"What do you know about her dad?" Eporem demanded. "Who is he, what's his job…you don't even know his name. What if they knew you were listening? What if this is a hoax?"

"Who the hell would pretend that Voldemort was back?" asked Merope incredulously. "That's the least funny joke ever."

"Shaela Malfoy's not that bright," Eporem reasoned.

"There were others with her," Merope pressed. "Her sisters, or something."

"You don't know that," said Eporem, sounding exasperated. "What if they were pretending? One of them could have been Mallory Ray or something."

"Eporem, we've gotta do something, regardless of whether this is true or not!" Merope exclaimed. "If you're right, and Voldemort's not back, then fine. No harm, no foul. But if I'm right, and Voldemort is back…"

"What are you planning on doing, exactly? Walking up to Voldemort and hexing him? You can't even levitate a feather—how the hell do you expect to K.O. the darkest wizard in a century?"

"I'm not the only one who can do something," said Merope, annoyed with Eporem's sarcasm. "I'll tell someone, someone who _can_ actually do something."

"Who, then?"

"I dunno…Lupin, maybe?" said Merope. "He was in league with Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape and Harry Potter. That's worth something, isn't it?"

"He won't believe you," said Eporem flatly, crossing her translucent arms.

"Can't you stop being a prick for a minute and actually help me?" Merope snapped.

"I'm just puttin this in perspective for you," Eporem said defensively. "Look, think about it. Lupin has no idea who you are. If you just go waltzing on in there ranting about Lord Voldemort and Shaela Malfoy, he's gonna send you to St. Mungo's."

"Then what do _you _think we should do, if you're so smart?" asked Merope, who was getting more infuriated by the second.

"Nothing," said Eporem simply. "Not until we've got more proof."

"Maybe I should ask Nella," said Merope. "She might know what to—"

"Are you insane?" exclaimed Eporem.

"Stop asking that!" Merope yelled.

"Nella won't have any idea what to do, we both know that," said Eporem. "She's a twenty-five year old dropout working at Madame Malkin's. I hardly think she'll have any idea about anything Dark."

"This is giving me a headache," said Merope. "Let's go eat, and then we'll talk about this later."

"No. We've gotta finish this."

Merope resisted the urge to explode. She took a deep breath and tried to speak in an even tone.

"I am going down to breakfast. You can stay here if you want to, but I'm going to eat like a normal person."

"Good luck with that," smirked Eporem. Merope left the closet as nondescriptly as possible and walked down the hallway, her headache increasing in intensity with every step. She tried to ignore it as she walked further from the closet, but it only got worse and worse with every step. Crediting this sudden headache to too many late nights, Merope rubbed her temples and entered the Great Hall.

It was the oddest feeling she had ever had. Thoughts didn't dart across her mind as she looked around. She had to consciously _think_…that was the only way she could explain it to herself. She didn't have sudden bursts of ideas or crazy thoughts. It was oddly quiet. Just her and her memories.

Merope sat down at the Slytherin table beside Olivia Malenkiv and Calvin, because she knew that Shaela Malfoy wouldn't dare confront her in front of Olivia. She tried to distract herself from her splitting headache by eating. She could hear Olivia speaking to her, but she couldn't make out the words, responding with shrugs and nods that made her head pound even more.

Her eyes were drooping, and her head was spinning. The Great Hall was flashing before her eyes in a very disorienting way.

"Fallon?" Olivia Malenkiv nudged her shoulder. "Fallon, you still with us?"

Merope tried to nod, but instead she fell face-first into her eggs and went out cold.

**A/N: **Yeah, this was another short one. Not my favorite chapter, but it worked okay, I guess. Tell me what you thought, or something…unfortunate…might happen to Merope…

Kidding. Except for the review part.


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